Gold Hall smelled like money pretending to be history.
Polished cedar. Old velvet. Lemon oil. Expensive ink. Quiet food no one planned to enjoy. Portraits of graduates who had gone on to inherit ministries, armies, banks, bishoprics, and the legal right to ruin lives without raising their voices.
A chandelier hung from the ceiling in seven rings of crystal.
Each ring represented a rank.
Iron at the bottom.
Gold near the top.
Diamond unlit above all.
Subtle, if you had never met subtlety.
I entered beneath the chandelier with Valeria Embercrown at my left, Veylan's written medical clearance in my pocket, Seraphina's healer restriction wrapped around my right wrist under the glove, and Ren three steps behind carrying a tray he absolutely did not need to carry.
He had insisted.
"Support presence," he called it.
"Emotional foolishness," I called it.
"Logged," he replied.
The boy was learning too much.
