The morning dragged on endlessly. Each hour was a fog of words and numbers that refused to stay in my head. I stared at the board without seeing. The lines blurred, dissolved, until only a white surface remained. All that lingered was the feeling of being watched—not directly, but from a distance, from an angle that couldn't be seen, only felt.
As if Malaric's silent gesture in the hallway lived on, an invisible shadow clinging to my skin. Every movement felt too loud, every breath too visible.
I pressed my fingertips against the pendant under my shirt, as if it could ground me. Alaric. His name was a silent refrain that kept returning. If he were here, he would have silenced Malaric's gaze with a single blow. His calmness was like a shield no one could penetrate. But his seat remained empty. And with each passing minute, his absence became more tangible.
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