The line moved without chatter. Packs sat where they should on the shoulders, and straps lay flat. Water sloshed once and then settled.
Pairs checked each other's zippers and pulls, then checked them again because that was how you told your partner you meant to see them on the other side.
Elira stood near the proctors and didn't speak. She didn't need to. She had said everything yesterday. The rest was doing.
Pods waited along the wall, smooth white shells with soft lights along their rims. They weren't coffins, though a first glance always tried to call them that.
They were doors laid on their backs. Each one hummed at a low pitch that felt like a cat you couldn't see. Proctors took names and nodded.
Clipboards were old-fashioned, but the school used them because paper keeps people honest in a way screens forget to.
The room smelled clean, like new cloth, metal wiped down, and something faintly sweet from a disinfectant that had learned not to bite.
