The low, restless hum of the campus drifted up to Sophia Vale's oval office in muffled waves—hundreds of student voices, the deep idle rumble of armored engines, the electric buzz of a departure that had become public theater. Golden evening light poured through the tall curved windows, bathing the room in warm amber and long, dramatic shadows.
Sophia sat behind her massive desk like a queen on her throne, posture flawless, expression unreadable.
Across from her, General Sinn filled the guest chair. The scars on the left side of his face caught the light brutally, jagged white lightning frozen in weathered skin. He watched her with the steady, unflinching gaze of a man who had buried too many people to waste time on pleasantries.
"Sinn," she said calmly, "I'm putting my students in your hands. All five of them come back."
He met her eyes without flinching. "You know I can't promise that. You knew it when you signed their names on that register."
