"The thing about traps is that by the time you realize you're in one, it's already too late to get out."
***
In the faculty monitoring room, Professor Laurana Delacroix's violet eyes widened as she studied the readings from her analytical instruments.
The silver-haired elf rarely showed emotion. Her colleagues had long since grown accustomed to her serene detachment. The way she observed the chaos of the academy with the bemusement of someone watching particularly energetic ants go about their business.
But the data streaming across her ethereal displays had shattered her usual composure.
The numbers were wrong. Not just unexpected.
Impossible.
"Professor De Clare." Her melodic voice carried an urgency that made Isolde look up from her flask. "The mana resonance in Sector Seven is degrading at an alarming rate."
Isolde crossed to the scrying orb showing Team Seven's progress. Her amber eyes narrowed as she took in the darkened tunnels and sickly moss.
"Define 'alarming.'"
