Ivy's words hang in the courtyard like a flag unfurling before battle.
And indeed, students are gathering. They aren't running yet, but eyes are turning, footsteps are slowing, and the air is filled with that electric curiosity that clings to schoolyard fights like perfume. From the balcony above, a pair of second-years lean over the railings, whispers darting between them. Someone's elbow nudges their friend; someone else holds back a laugh, waiting for the bloodbath.
Heidi feels it. All of it. The eyes, the whispers, the quickening heartbeat of a crowd hungry for drama. It prickles along her skin, sets her wolf pacing behind her ribs. The wolf is practically wagging its metaphorical tail.
"Yes," her wolf growls, delightedly. "Let them all watch. Let them see who you really are. Tear these pretty dolls apart."
Heidi's fists are tight at her sides, but she unclenches them slowly, like she's unwrapping something fragile. Her voice, however, when it comes, is not delicate.
