The streets blurred past as Lor sprinted, half-devouring the warm omelette Mira had shoved into his hands, the savory taste of egg and herbs lingering on his tongue.
His uniform flapped open slightly, hair still damp from his rushed wash, a few rogue crumbs clinging to his collar, his boots pounding the cobbled road with relentless urgency.
The academy gates loomed ahead, iron arches glinting in the morning sun, and he was gaining—heart racing, breath ragged, the Guiding Light scam's web still spinning in his mind.
Then he noticed her.
A flash of blonde beside him. Long legs. Longer stride.
Ameth.
She was tall, elegant even in a rush, her school blouse straining against the swell of her full breasts, the fabric taut as she ran, a slice of bread clamped in her mouth like a cliché from a school drama.
