The Headmistress's building loomed ahead—dark stone, older than the rest of the academy, humming with wards that felt less like protection and more like a warning. Students avoided the entrance on instinct; even teachers kept their pace brisk near the front steps.
Merlin wasn't afraid of walking into Morgana's office.
He was afraid of walking in with the wrong assumptions.
Elara walked at his side without a word. She wasn't tense—she was coiled. Focus sharpened to a point. Not anxious, not reckless, but ready to drive a spear through a problem she couldn't yet name.
It should've reassured him.
Instead, every step made that weak new presence pulse harder. Like it was reacting to her. Or to them together.
He didn't dare look back.
They reached the entrance. The thick oak doors parted without being touched. Morgana never waited.
Inside, the air was cooler than expected. Not cold—just precise. Every candle flame held perfectly still, no flicker, no sway. The silence felt crafted.
