The dining hall buzzed with idle conversation, silverware clinking against porcelain, laughter rising in uneven waves. It should've been calming. Routine.
But Merlin's shoulders remained tense.
He sat quietly, spoon hovering over his soup, eyes flicking across the hall like clockwork. Nothing was out of place. Not yet.
"Elara, pass the bread," Nathan said, reaching across the table with zero grace.
"You have arms," she replied flatly, shoving the basket toward him.
"Yeah, but yours are longer," Nathan quipped.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, tossing a grape up and catching it with lazy precision. "Gods, it's been a long week. I swear if Sophia assigns us another theory essay I'm going to fake my own death."
"I'd help you forge the documentation," Liliana said without missing a beat.
Seraphina sipped her tea, as expressionless as ever. "None of you would last five minutes faking anything."
It should've been comforting—this noise, this rhythm. A slice of normalcy.
