When Priscilla arrived at the Academy, she already understood how the game would be played. She didn't come expecting fairness or warmth.
The Academy was just another court dressed in marble and gold—a place where power decided who spoke and who stayed silent. Her surname might have opened doors, but her bloodline would make sure every one of them closed again.
The first night confirmed it. The moment she stepped into her assigned dorm, she could feel it—the air had a kind of watchfulness to it. Lamps burned too steadily, the silence held too long. Someone was nearby. Not close enough to confront her, not foolish enough to be caught—just close enough to remind her she wasn't alone.
She hung her cloak by the window, unpacked what little she brought, and ignored the pull to look over her shoulder. The sound of her heartbeat filled the gaps where conversation should have been. That was how her life would be here: every word weighed, every breath measured, every silence judged.
