I used to think weekdays were tense just because Celestia was always hovering over me—looming at my side, demanding attention, pushing herself into every corner of my day.
But today?
Today I knew what real tension was.
Because she wasn't.
I got to school first. Walked into Halifax's classroom with my usual half-dead shuffle, backpack slung low, earbuds in. But when the door opened again a few minutes later, when she walked in—head high, uniform immaculate, hair catching the morning light—she didn't so much as glance at me.
She didn't come my way.
She didn't slide into the seat beside me like she always did, draping her bag across my desk as though she owned it.
Instead, she walked past, straight past and sat. Alone.
