Returning to the office, Matthew took a seat in one of the angled wooden chairs while Mr. Yang returned behind his desk.

The office itself was quite warm. Open shelves floated on three sides. A fireplace hearth opened itself in the corner, some stacked boxes of paperwork and books taking the place of wood and kindling. The boxes lay scattered about the floor, some tucked in the actual hearth, and none on the shelves. The opposite wall was entirely glass with the same circular motifs as the living room doors before, opening onto what appeared to be a terrace; the doors themselves were stained with fingerprints and smudges.

"I don't believe I need to tell you that this appointment was without my knowledge," he started, studying Matthew's resume.

"I've gathered, sir." He shifted in the seat. The air smelled of stale sawdust, which turned his stomach. The adjoining smell of burnt cigars yearned to him; he shoved his gum into his cheek.

Mr. Yang scratched his face before his eyes moved to Matthew. "A Masters in early childhood education and psychology?" he asked, one hand holding the resume and the other outstretched on a legal pad with black pen nearby. "Bachelors in art history, as well?"

"And a minor...in, engineering," he added. As soon as he finished, he sank back into his seat. 'Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.'

The man put down his resume. "What brought you into education?"

Matthew squirmed in his seat. No matter how many times he got asked the question, the answer felt like such a cop-out to him, somehow. Like the explanation itself was exceedingly unworthy, pathetic even. "I, didn't have a particularly good time in school. I learned a lot slower than everyone else. Everyone seemed to think it was because I lacked the motivation, or the conviction, to do it, but it took me longer. I...didn't get the help I needed until I was in high school, but by then..." He paused and sighed, unable to finish the comment. "If I can help one child not feel as bad as I did, it'd make the past ten years of studying this worth it. T-to me, at least."

Mr. Yang slowly nodded, and, making a quick note, moved his gaze back to the resume. "Are you currently on the run from the law?"

He blinked. "Wh – I, no? What?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"N-no, no, I'm not running from the law."

"Currently qualified to work in the country?"

Matthew nodded. "Yes."

“Can you provide evidence of this?”

He nodded.

"Are you, or have you ever been, a convicted murderer, rapist, theft? Have ever objected to working for any type of government-sponsored operations, such as serving in the armed forces?" He added, "To add onto that, have you ever been an accomplice for any of the acts I just listed? This includes minor offenses, so please keep that in mind."

"Just those?" Matthew found himself saying.

Mr. Yang stared.

He bit the inside of his cheek. "No, no, sir. No on all counts. I've, I've never even been arrested before. Well, one time, I did get pulled over by a cop because I was speeding, but who hasn't had that happen to them before?" Matthew snapped his mouth closed. He so desperately wanted to chew his gum, the flavor disappearing. More than anything, though, he wanted Mr. Yang to stop staring at him like that.

The man's eyebrows rose, in either surprise or amusement.

'Maybe both.' Matthew swallowed.

Mr. Yang fixed the ends of his sleeves and, making another note, returned his eyes to the resume.

Matthew crossed his legs, wishing for the next question.

"Are you, or have you ever, been aroused by children?"

Not that question. "N-no. Never."

The man's eyes moved to the younger man before asking, "Do you smoke, Mr. Robinson?"

Matthew shook his head. "I...did, sir, but I've...sto – well, I've decided to quit recently. It's a nasty habit." He would've laughed at the hypocrisy of the comment if the older man's eyes hadn't narrowed for a moment, making Matthew squirm in his seat.

"Hm." This one was short, menacing.

He'd never felt so uncomfortable in an interview before.

"Do you drink?" Mr. Yang continued.

"No," said Mathew, shaking his head. "It's...too expensive of a hobby for me right now. Don't have a taste for it, either. It's...all...foul-smelling and...and bitter." He bit the inside of his cheek again, if only to shut himself up.

Mr. Yang's eyes returned to Matthew for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching into the hints of a bemused smirk. "How do you feel about jam? Specifically strawberry, blackberry, grape, or raspberry."

Matthew's brows narrowed. The string of questions would surely be the death of him from such whiplash. "I...okay, I haven't had jelly in years, but I always liked strawberry the best growing up."

"It's Elliot's favorite," he let out nonchalantly, turning to the side to make another note.

"Oh. Well, uh, it's, it's nice that you know your children's –"

"How do you feel about cults?"

Okay, that was a question Matthew didn't know how to answer.

"Mr. Robinson?"

He straightened up. "I..." Matthew glanced down and cursed himself under his breath, quickly chewing the gum at the back of his mouth before shoving it into his cheek again. "...I think...as long as you're not disrespecting another person's existence in any way and...stripping meaningful, significant rights away from others, there's no harm."

Mr. Yang sat back in his chair. "I don't think you know what a cult is."

Matthew licked his lips. "I...know they're typically a social group," he began. "They're typically defined by religious values and beliefs and directed towards a common goal."

The older man's eyes narrowed.

"Psychological conditioning is fascinating to me. In, in theory. Solely."

He licked his lips. “As long as they're not disrespecting another person's existence...?”

Matthew nodded.

"Interesting answer. Explain."

Matthew leaned forward, adjusting his pants in doing so. "I, assume we're talking about Elliot?"

Tapping his pen on the desk, Mr. Yang nodded. "His interests in the occult and witchcraft has been...longstanding. It is..." He turned his eyes back to Matthew. "It's uncommon behavior for a boy that age."

He held his tongue. Matthew wasn't sure what to say.

"There are some behaviors, should anyone get this position, that need to be...managed. I do not want him going to school in the fall telling everyone he's been talking to, to Cthulhu or whatever devil god he's reading about."

He sat back. He tried keeping his eyes off the older man.

"If you have something to say, I encourage you to say it."