The clinic bell didn't ring like a class change. It hammered three short, one long—real breach. The sound came through bone and into teeth.
"South wardline," Liora said, already moving. Her voice carried without shouting. "Dorian, lock the corridors. Wardens, clear students from windows. Armand, Lantern and Sapper only. No silhouettes in glass."
"Marrow, Shade. Hollow, Shade," I said. The leash hummed tight across my chest as both slipped into shadow. I grabbed the small bone lantern—cold light, soft as frost—and the little crawler I'd built last week. Eight finger bones in a ring, a jaw hinge for a head, and a chalk nub strapped underneath. It scratched ward routes without sparking anything awake.
