It's not what he is expecting.

A man seats them in a private room. He is soft-spoken, nonchalant. He pulls out a nondescript clipboard, sits across from them, and crosses his leg, mumbling a "hello" under his breath.

The miko shifts, her discomfort spiking.

Sesshoumaru sits, watching her shift and focus on her nails. Gone are the teasing smile and laughing eyes from the waiting room, any joke she had on him vanishing under the significance of this room and the eyes of a stranger.

"Let's get started."

Inhaling sharply, her hand grasps for his.

He catches it.

She breathes.