The dining hall filled gradually that evening, but the atmosphere never quite reached its usual volume.
Lucas noticed it before he even sat down.
Normally dinner at the Triangle felt like controlled chaos. Dozens of conversations overlapping, chairs scraping across stone floors, people laughing too loudly after exhausting training blocks. Tonight the noise existed, but it stayed lower, as if the entire room had agreed—without speaking—to keep things just a little restrained.
Lucas grabbed a tray and paused near the entrance.
The first thing he saw was the seating patterns.
A week ago, students had scattered themselves randomly across the tables. Friends sat with friends, teammates with teammates. Rank mattered a little, but not much.
Now it looked different.
Certain tables were crowded.
Others stayed half empty.
