The next morning, a strange stillness clung to Class D—a silence too thoughtful to be laziness, too wary to be focus.
The usual chaos of scraping chairs and whispered jabs was muted, as if the room itself held its breath.
Miss Silvia stood at the front, her posture unusually upright, hands folded neatly over a stack of parchment.
Her white jacket was crisply pressed, her auburn hair pinned tightly, and her glasses caught the morning light like polished blades.
She exuded a rare determination to reclaim control, if only for today.
Her pencil skirt hugged her voluptuous curves, swaying slightly as she turned to face the class, oblivious to the faint scorch mark from a prior spell still darkening its hem.
Lor slouched in the back, chin propped on his palm, hazel eyes flicking across the room—not to the blackboard, but to the reactions.
Nellie, two rows ahead, scribbled notes with quiet focus, her twin braids swinging softly, her thick thighs shifting under her tight skirt.
