Someone entered my room while I was awake.
Poor manners.
Worse technique.
The window did not move. The lock did not click. The shadow under the door did not shift until the intruder had already crossed the threshold and decided whether my throat looked accessible.
A professional, then.
Professionals were comforting.
They made fewer emotional decisions.
I remained seated at the desk with my right hand holding a pen above academy parchment and my left hand resting beneath the table, palm burned raw inside fresh bandages.
Ren had brought the bandages.
Mother Maelis had provided them.
Seraphina had looked at them as if a medical supply could be an accusation.
None of them had asked why the burn pattern resembled collapsed spell geometry instead of friction. Kindness came in many forms. Silence was sometimes the most intelligent one.
The candle beside my notebook flickered once.
Not from wind.
From movement stealing air with surgical precision.
I wrote another word.
