The training yard felt colder today.
Not weather-wise—the sky above the Academy was the usual pale blue, clouds crawling lazy overhead—but something in the air had changed. Tense. Thick. Like the world had taken a breath and forgotten to let it out.
I stepped into the dirt arena, hands tucked behind my back, coat billowing with the wind. No illusions today. No tricks. Just the basics.
And sometimes, that was the worst kind of hell.
"Line up," I barked.
They scrambled like half-woken recruits. Julien, Garrick, Felix, Wallace, and Leo took formation, weapons in hand or slung lazily across shoulders. Mira and Cassandra were absent—'assigned to an alchemy excursion,' according to a note stuffed under my door.
Which was fine. Gave me the perfect excuse to isolate variables.
