In the sunlit courtyard, I found my friends gathered under a blossoming tree Mara, fierce and animated as always, gesticulating wildly as she outlined her latest scheme; Elira, rolling her eyes but following every word; Riven, already halfway through a suspiciously large sandwich; and Velka, sitting quietly at the edge, her eyes lighting up when she saw me.
It was almost enough to make me believe things were normal.
But the breeze carried not just the scent of spring and enchanted honey-flowers, but also the whispers the sharp, acidic kind that never quite fade, the kind that coil under doors and slip between cracks, leaving a chill on the back of your neck. If gossip were a magical beast, the academy would've needed a bigger stable.
I sat beside Velka, squeezing her hand under the table a tiny secret in plain sight. Mara slammed a map onto the grass, scattering breadcrumbs and the remains of Riven's sandwich, which he protested with theatrical outrage.
