The side doors had barely clicked shut behind Morgana when the room came back to life.
Students grabbed their bags in a rush of noise and fast moves. The heavy silence was gone, replaced by a shaky, nervous energy.
No one wanted to talk too loud, but everyone wanted to leave. Bags were thrown over shoulders, chairs scraped against the stone floor, and the calm exit of a normal class turned into a fast retreat.
Down in the front row, I stayed in my seat, my back straight and my legs feeling like jelly.
Arthur stood up a row ahead, stretching his arms with a tired groan. His eyes found mine and gave a small, tired nod — a quiet knowing between two guys who had both been thrown across a stage by a Transcendent and lived to tell the story.
