The morning came too quickly, gray and damp, a thin mist clinging to the academy grounds. Nero had slept little, his mind turning over the threads, the crooked smile, the mystery of a girl who had died with no wounds and no poison. He rose before dawn, ran his usual twenty kilometers, sat atop the mountain and breathed until his lungs burned and his core was full. But the restlessness did not leave him. Something was coming. He could feel it.
He returned to his dorm, showered, dressed, and walked to the club room. The others arrived one by one—Lux with a travel mug of coffee, Adam stretching his shoulders, Blake yawning, Khione silent and composed. They gathered around the table, the masks still lying where they had left them.
"I'll try to follow the thread today," Nero said. "See where it leads."
But they never made it out of the room.
The knock came at mid-morning, sharp and urgent. Lux opened the door to a breathless messenger, a young cadet with wide eyes and a pale face.
