"Every great performance starts backstage."
***
The morning bells chimed five times across the academy grounds. Bronze voices carried the crisp bite of autumn air through my open window. I stood before my mirror in the pale grey light of dawn, buttoning the simple white tunic Lyra had prepared.
Cotton. Not silk. Sleeves that wouldn't restrict movement. Soft against my skin. Unremarkable in every way that mattered.
Exactly what a third son of a fallen house would wear to his own public humiliation.
Opening night, I thought. Adjusted the collar with steady fingers. Time to see if the audience appreciates good theater.
My reflection stared back. Alex Chen's sharp intelligence hidden behind Kaelen Leone's carefully cultivated mediocrity. The face everyone expected to see crumple under Vance Thorne's fists in a few short hours.
