Crestwood Academy had a way of teaching lessons no textbook could capture.
That morning, sunlight stretched over the marble walkways and perfectly trimmed hedges, but the warmth did nothing to make the place feel less like a gilded cage. Every shadow seemed to hint at someone or something watching.
Mark and I met near the fountain, the water glinting as if it had secrets of its own. Liana joined us moments later, juggling sketchpads and a stack of colored markers.
"Art club today," she said, grinning. "Creative thinking scores are being monitored. Apparently, masterpieces reveal character."
I arched an eyebrow. "Or weaknesses."
"Exactly," she said. "So… what's your character, Elena?"
I shrugged, smiling faintly. "Careful. Observant. Boring."
Mark snorted. "Boring keeps you alive."
We walked toward the art studio, a sunlit room in the east wing. The scent of paint and clay was comforting, a small rebellion against constant vigilance.
Our assignment: create a piece representing identity under pressure.
The words alone made my pulse quicken. Identity. Pressure.
Liana dove in immediately, sketching a tree twisted by wind, roots exposed but bending without breaking. Seraphine Roth stared at her blank canvas, jaw tight, as though her talent alone could will the page to life.
I worked slowly, deliberately. My brush traced a figure standing alone in a storm. The face was hidden in shadow, the posture firm. Every stroke reflected resilience, careful but unyielding.
Halfway through, Kaelith's shadow crossed the doorway. He didn't enter. Just paused. Red hair catching the light, eyes scanning not the room, not anyone else but me.
I didn't flinch. Outwardly calm. But my pulse hammered beneath my ribs.
The bell rang. Classes shifted, students scattered. I lingered a few moments, adding subtle details to the painting. Liana and Mark had left, whispering jokes about Seraphine's predictable palette.
By the time I stepped into the hall, whispers were everywhere. The academy had announced a community engagement day for the weekend: picnics, volunteer work, small competitions designed to encourage teamwork and observation.
I forced a smile. "Another chance to pretend we're normal," I murmured.
At home that evening, the Montague connection loomed. My sister was unusually quiet at dinner. Julian was absent probably "busy" with palace obligations. She didn't mention him once, and I didn't ask. Silence was safer than curiosity.
Later, my diary became my confidant once more:
Some lessons aren't in books. They're in watching, waiting, and knowing which words to speak. Some masks are worn at home, some at school. And some masks never come off at all.
I closed the diary and stared out the window. Valeria's city lights shimmered below like a thousand watchful eyes.
Even on days filled with laughter, projects, and art, nothing in this city or at Crestwood was truly ordinary.
Because every shadow, every whisper, every smile carried weight.
And I was learning how to bear it quietly.