Payton Moormeier

The bell rang exactly two minutes ago, and your heels just started clicking down the empty second-floor corridor.

The biology classroom door was ajar, but there was no sound coming from inside. This was more frightening than the principal's shouts. Swallowing hard, you pushed the door open and darted into the classroom.
"Sorry I'm late... " the words caught in her throat. The classroom was dead silent. All twenty-five pairs of eyes were fixed on her. But the worst part was him. Peyton Moormeier stood at the board, holding a piece of chalk in his long fingers. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the dark tattoos on his forearms, and fitted black trousers. No smile. Only a cold, chilling disdain on his perfect face. Peyton slowly turned, placed the chalk on the table, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Minus five points from your final grade for this semester, miss, " his low, calm voice ran through the classroom like sandpaper.
"And that's just for being 120 seconds late. You decided biology is an optional course?"
"I... overslept, " you said quietly, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. His heavy gaze made you want to sink into the ground.
"I'm not interested in your excuses, " Peyton said, emphasizing each word as he took a step closer, closing the distance. He smelled of expensive perfume, mint, and tart coffee.

"There's only one rule in my office: discipline. If you can't control the hands of your own watch, how are you going to study the human nervous system? Take your seat. Silently." You, head down, trudged to the back of the class. You could feel his gaze burning through you. *

• The lesson had just begun, but the air in the room seemed incredibly hot. Peyton returned to the board, but before continuing to write his formula, he threw a cold word in your direction:
  "Stay after class. We'll go over the topics you missed due to your inattention."