The disciplinary chamber crackled with a tension so thick it was almost a physical force. Layla Nowa's violet eyes, usually so calm and calculating, now burned with a cold fury that promised retribution. Across the polished obsidian table, I met her gaze without flinching, my own shadows writhing at my feet like caged beasts, hungry for a fight.
"Your actions will result in expulsion," she hissed, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "The elven delegation is already demanding it. Prepare yourself."
I leaned back in my chair, a slow, lazy smirk curling my lips. Theatrics were a weapon, and right now, they were my sharpest blade. "Oh? And who exactly do you think is backing me, President? My dear sugar mommy, perhaps?" I tapped my fingers against the table, a rhythmic, insolent sound in the heavy silence. "No one can expel me from this academy. Not the elves. Not the board. Not even you. Understand?"
