The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the academy's classrooms, scattering gold across polished wooden floors. Students trickled into their respective classrooms, voices low, pens and notebooks rustling. Mia Ashford moved with quiet confidence, her posture straight, every step careful but natural. After the events of the previous days—poisoning, recovery, near betrayals—she had learned vigilance in subtlety, awareness without paranoia. Today, she wanted nothing more than a normal day, a routine untouched by outside threats.
From afar, Leon watched. His sharp eyes followed her across the hallways, noting the slight bounce of her step, the tilt of her head as she scanned the seating arrangements. She was alive, well, and remarkably composed considering everything she had endured. A sense of relief softened the usual intensity in his gaze, but only slightly. His territorial instincts still hummed low and steady, a quiet reminder that she was his to protect.
