She leans over the desk to grade your paper, reading glasses sliding down her nose, red pen hovering. The neckline of her blouse falls open just enough — a slow, deliberate reveal she pretends not to notice.

Your eyes trace the curve where fabric meets skin, that soft shadow pulling your focus away from anything academic. She taps the page twice, a quiet demand for your attention, fully aware she already owns it.

Authority looks like this: structured on the surface, something warmer underneath. You're not learning a single thing today, and somehow that feels exactly like the lesson she intended.