The academy grounds were bathed in the soft, golden hue of the morning sun, casting long shadows across the cobbled pathways and manicured lawns. It was the kind of day that seemed ordinary to anyone passing by, but for Mia Ashford, every day carried subtle undercurrents of caution. Having recovered fully from the recent ordeal—the poisoning, the near-death experience, and the lingering presence of threats—she moved with a calm but deliberate grace, aware of the gazes that sometimes lingered too long.
Breakfast was a lively affair in the dining hall. Students shuffled in, trays clinking against the polished wooden tables, laughter and conversation bouncing off the high ceilings. Mia moved through the hall with her usual poise, selecting a quiet corner, placing her tray neatly on the table, and taking her seat. The events of the past days had left her cautious, vigilant even, though her outward demeanor appeared calm and collected.
