Rumors didn't spread at the Triangle.
They propagated.
By the next morning, Dreyden could feel it before he consciously registered it—subtle disruptions in rhythm, micro-pauses in foot traffic, the way conversations shifted angle instead of stopping outright. The academy didn't react loudly anymore.
It adjusted.
Fear, once fresh and clumsy, had matured overnight.
It was no longer loud.
It was careful.
He walked through the main corridor toward his first class with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, stride unhurried. He wasn't projecting confidence. He wasn't suppressing presence.
He was simply existing.
That alone was enough.
Students parted instinctively. Not dramatically, not in panicked waves, but with an unconscious awareness that placed him just outside the normal flow. Their bodies registered him before their minds did—feet altering course, shoulders angling away, eyes darting then retreating.
This wasn't the way they treated Lucas.
