The door to Lady Orita's classroom was closed, the muffled hum of conversation drifting faintly into the hallway. Inside, Lady Orita and Prince De Clare were speaking in low tones, their words too indistinct to make out but carrying a weight that made Q's stomach churn with unease.
She pressed her ear against the polished wood, straining to catch anything—anything—that might give her a clue about what was being said. Her heart thudded in her chest, a relentless reminder of how much trouble she was probably in.
Behind her, Juliette's sharp voice broke through her focus.
"Weston, get away from the door," she hissed, her gray eyes narrowed in warning. "If Lady Orita catches you eavesdropping, it'll only make things worse."
Q ignored her, tilting her head slightly to try and pick up even the faintest word.
"I'm not eavesdroppin'," she lied, her voice muffled by the door. "I'm... preemptively listenin' in case I need to defend myself."