The silence that descended on Blackwood Academy after Cassian’s defeat was thick, suffocating. It wasn’t the usual studious quiet, the hushed murmur of privilege. It was the silence of trauma, the heavy air of a battlefield after the fighting had stopped, leaving only the wounded and the dead.

The Great Hall, once a symbol of Blackwood's grandeur, was now a makeshift triage center. The injured were being tended to by the few remaining medical staff, their faces grim and exhausted. The air reeked of antiseptic and something else, something darker – the metallic tang of blood and the cloying sweetness of fear.