She'd been sitting across from him for three minutes.

He hadn't looked up once.

The butter blonde man, turning the same piece of his Venn puzzle for the third time, his eyes focused squarely on trying to figure out a solution that should come naturally, but isn’t.

"You wanted to see me," she said finally. Not a question.

The puzzle snapped into place, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. Setting it aside on the table, he looked up.

"Did I?" He leaned back, studying her the way one might study a specimen. "Or did you want answers badly enough to come when called?"

“You wouldn’t be offering answers if you didn’t expect something in return, am I mistaken?”

He scoffs, “Even if I did, I never told you to come today, or tomorrow, or ever. I’m in no rush, but you, on the other hand?” He raises his hands, everything already laid out in front. “Actions can be very telling.”

Her mouth opened and closed faster than she could think, her gaze wandered around him seeking answers that weren’t there.

“So, tell me, Elise, what do you want to talk about?”

Her eyes fix on his pupils, searching for something past her reflection, “What-,” she catches herself, “who are you?”

He leans in, “Huh? ‘What am I?’ Is that what you mean?”

Her jaw tightened.

He feigns a thoughtful pose. “I’m just a guy, of course.”

Her eyes stayed on his, “What is your Omega?” He went still for half a second. Then nodded, almost approving. “I thought a name would be enough to guess what it was myself, but it ended up making a misunderstanding.”

“I apologise for assuming, I’m Lyle Wilder. I doubt my adoptive name will give you any answers, though.”

“Then, to answer the initial question, what is your Omega?”

“I’m almost hurt; you’re not at all curious about-”

Her voice came in sharp, “Don’t dodge the question. If you wanted to tell me, you would’ve.”

His voice drops, “What makes you think you can interrupt me like that?” He gives her a moment to speak, but she doesn’t take it. “Being rude isn’t gutsy, kid.”

Elise's head drops slightly, “I’m sorry, won’t happen again.”

He gestures approvingly. “dos Santos is my original family, since you can’t bear to hear anymore about my background, that’s all you get,” his statement, absolute.

“So, Mr dos Santos—”

“Lyle!”

“So, Lyle, I’m then guessing you have cognitive powers then.”

“What of it?”

“Then how come you’re talking to me?”

The odd question raised an eyebrow or two from Lyle.

“My thoughts are still mine; my actions are mine, and yet you’re probing me for something. Something that you can’t obtain through your normal means.”

Lyle’s face contorts into a frown, “What do you mean normal?”

“Not to stereotype, but your type isn’t known to ask for permission when reading minds.” She paused, waiting for a response, expecting him to use this meeting as a defence that he isn’t like the others, but he remained silent. “This makes me assume that you can’t do that, or at least not anymore. So you need me to tell you how I think.”

He went still, “All this from a name?!”

“Not just,” she taps her cranium. “If you could read it, you’d know why.”

“You are shaping up to be quite the detective,” his voice steadied again.

Her smile vanishes.

“I can now imagine how your draft articles on Interpol can be so uncanny despite having no inside contact.”

Her face went pale.

“You’re quite the talent. I wonder how your professors would respond to their student engaging in conspiracy, or better yet, your future employer.”

“What articles?”

“The ones you were careful to keep offline. Paper drafts. Very thorough.” He leaned back, keeping his eyes on her. “Not thorough enough.”

“Like they’d believe you.”

“Like they wouldn’t be a little curious about treason and conspiracy.”

She turned away from him to the window. But he continued to watch her calculate, his gaze statuesque.

“You can go about your day, so long as you don’t give me a reason to tattle, we’re cool.” A childish snicker escapes him.