Ethan Prescott.

Roman approached the table, every movement measured.

“Mr. Prescott,” he greeted quietly.

Ethan looked up, expression unreadable. “Professor Hale.”

Roman gave a polite nod and sat. The silence between them stretched thin, humming with quiet hostility.

Ethan clasped his hands on the table. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you here.”

Roman’s tone was even. “The thought crossed my mind.”

Ethan leaned forward slightly. “You’re my daughter’s ...