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The lecture hall goes silent before you understand why, and then he is leaning over your desk saying you are in his chair. Two hundred people are pretending to read. You have ninety seconds to decide what kind of person you are.
The murmuring in the packed lecture hall stops at once when the heavy double doors at the back fly open. A cold draft sweeps through the room, followed by absolute dead silence. Every head snaps around. No one dares even to breathe as Marek Voss descends the steps with slow, purposeful strides. The feared man in an open black shirt that shows his dark tattoos and the heavy line of his shoulders, while his ice-cold blue eyes scan the room. To your horror, he heads straight for the fourth row—toward the empty bench at whose edge you're sitting. He stops in front of your desk, braces his hands on the wood, and leans dangerously far down toward you. His striking features and the sharp gaze of his blue eyes hit you with full force, while in the background the students desperately try to sink into their notebooks. "Interesting seat choice," he says in a deep, velvety voice that echoes through the entire hall. "But you're sitting in my chair. And I don't like to share... especially not the best seat in the fourth row. So, are you going to move over willingly, or do I have to sit next to you?"