By the time Nolan returned to Room 33, the sun had shifted across the sky.
The courtyard had quieted.
The smell of mana-burnt stone and melted alloy still lingered faintly in the air, but most of the crowd had dispersed.
The classroom door creaked open and he stepped inside. Empty. Quiet.
He didn't know what happened to the students or the results of the assessment.
The logistics had been overtaken by the spectacle. But someone had assured him—offhandedly, like it was the most natural thing in the world—that he was accepted as a permanent instructor now.
That part didn't feel real yet.
He sat at his desk, staring out the window. There was an odd hollowness in his chest. Not sadness exactly. Not fatigue either. Just… a strange emptiness, like a line of code missing from a program he'd been running for years.
He had escaped his past. He had survived his brother. He had found a place, even a title.
So why did it feel like something was missing?
