Meanwhile, the dean's office—the entire room—felt strangely still, as if it carried a kind of stillness that didn't exist anywhere else in the academy.
It wasn't total silence—soundproofing never was—but the outside world felt dulled, like a deep snowfall muffled every noise until even a breath seemed too loud.
The air had that faint density that came from layered shielding, the kind that blocked more than voices.
It kept stray signals from slipping in or out and gave the room a hum so low you felt it more in your bones than in your ears.
The desk between the dean and Ardis Kyrelle was bare except for a single sealed datapad. Its smooth black surface caught the glow of the overhead light at a shallow angle, glinting just enough to make you notice it.
The dean sat back in her chair, her hands resting loosely on the armrests, posture unforced but deliberate.
