Dean Godsthorn didn't flinch as Dean Veyra stepped out of the shadows, the air around her growing cold despite the warmth of the room.
Her eyes shimmered, not with fear, not with anger—but something far worse.
They had a calm, unreadable purpose.
"You've made quite the mess," Godsthorn said, folding his hands behind his back, the tips of his fingers glowing faintly with spatial magic.
She didn't respond.
"Attacking the academy with hidden mercenaries. Burying spatial-lock orbs. Unleashing violence on students," he went on, voice quiet but edged. "Not to mention turning my own academy as a whole into a place for such events."
Veyra blinked slowly. "And yet... not one death yet."
"You think that makes it better?"
"I think it proves I'm not here to destroy ElderGlow. If I were, we wouldn't be talking."
