The Wednesday morning sun poured through the windows of Homeroom 3B like it had somewhere better to be, which, honestly, same. I slumped into my usual seat near the back of the classroom, still feeling the phantom ache of yesterday’s training session in my shoulders and the very real exhaustion of having slept approximately four hours over the past two nights.

Worth it though. Definitely worth it.

Aurora had texted me at six AM with a picture of Addison still passed out in the guest room, her black hair fanned across the pillow and one arm wrapped around the body pillow she’d stolen from Aurora’s bed. The caption read: you broke her. she’s been making sounds in her sleep. happy?

Extremely happy, actually.

Belle settled into the seat to my left, her modified uniform doing things that should probably be illegal on campus grounds. The top three buttons of her yellow dress shirt remained conspicuously unfastened, revealing the lace edge of something black and expensive underneath. Her pleated skirt sat a solid two inches higher than academy regulations permitted, and she wore it with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing and dared anyone to comment.

"You look like death warmed over," she observed, pulling out a compact mirror to check her lipstick. "Late night?"

"Vale’s training plus insufficient sleep plus whatever the hell is happening with my life right now equals this." I gestured vaguely at my face. "This is the face of a man living on caffeine and spite."

"And essence," she murmured, quiet enough that only I could hear. "Don’t forget the essence."

Naomi arrived next, sliding into the seat on my right with a small smile and a thermos of something that smelled like green tea. She wore her uniform properly, every button fastened and her skirt at regulation length, but somehow managed to make modesty look just as appealing as Belle’s deliberate provocations. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and her brown eyes scanned my face with that perceptive attention she couldn’t seem to turn off.

"You didn’t eat breakfast," she said. Not a question.

"I grabbed a protein bar."

"That’s not breakfast."

"It’s portable breakfast. Breakfast you can hold in one hand while running across campus because your alarm didn’t go off."

Jordan dropped into the seat behind us, his lanky frame somehow taking up more space than physics should allow. His blonde hair stuck up at odd angles like he’d rolled out of bed without bothering to check a mirror, and what looked like dried syrup had crusted on his collar. He smelled faintly of waffles.

"Hey, did anyone else see Blair in the hallway this morning? She looked like she wanted to murder something. More than usual, I mean."

"Blair always looks like she wants to murder something," Belle said without looking up from her mirror. "It’s her resting face."

"No, this was different. This was like, specific murder intent. Targeted murder intent." Jordan leaned forward between our seats. "She stared at Jace for like eight seconds straight. I counted."

I thought back to the brief encounter in the hallway. Blair’s ice-blue eyes had fixed on me with an intensity that suggested she was mentally calculating the exact amount of force needed to break every bone in my body. She’d paused mid-step, that perfect porcelain face showing the barest flicker of something I couldn’t quite read, before continuing on her way without a word.

"Maybe she’s planning my funeral," I said. "Someone should tell her I prefer cremation."

"Can you even afford cremation?" Belle asked, finally putting away her mirror.

"I’ll have them burn my student loan documents instead. Same effect, less paperwork."

Naomi pulled a Tupperware container from her bag and set it on the desk in front of me. Inside were neatly arranged slices of what looked like homemade banana bread, still warm enough that condensation had formed on the lid.

The classroom filled with the usual morning chaos of Obsidian students, their black-trimmed uniforms creating a sea of ambition and barely concealed aggression. Alexander Shepard sat near the front, his posture rigid and his grey eyes scanning the room like he was cataloging potential threats. A few seats over, Aurora waved at me with the casual energy of someone who hadn’t stayed up until two AM orchestrating the romantic lives of everyone around her. Her orange hair caught the sunlight streaming through the windows, bright enough to make my tired eyes water.

I caught Misato’s eye near the door. She gave me the smallest nod, which in Misato-speak meant something like "I acknowledge your continued existence and will tolerate your presence for another day." High praise from someone who once told me my combat stance looked like a drunk flamingo.

Vale swept into the classroom exactly as the clock struck eight, because of course he did. The man had a flair for the dramatic that bordered on performance art. His silver hair caught the light as he moved to the front of the room, mismatched eyes surveying us all with that particular brand of amused disinterest that suggested we were all vaguely entertaining insects he hadn’t decided whether to squash yet.

"Good morning, future corpses," he announced, dropping a stack of papers on his desk with a thud that silenced the remaining chatter. "I trust you all slept well and are ready to absorb the information that will keep you alive long enough to become someone else’s problem."

Nobody answered. We’d learned that Vale’s questions were rarely actually questions.

"Before we begin today’s riveting discussion of mana circulation techniques in hostile environments, let’s address the elephant in the room." Vale leaned against his desk, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself for eight in the morning. "House standings."

A collective groan rippled through the classroom. House standings were a constant source of anxiety for Obsidian students, and for good reason. We’d been champions for twelve straight years before last year’s disaster, and the wound still festered.

"As of this morning’s tabulation, House Obsidian sits in second place." Vale pulled up a holographic display that showed the current rankings in glowing blue text. "Sapphire leads by four hundred and twenty-three points. Ruby trails us by two hundred and seven. Emerald and Amber continue their eternal rivalry for the position of ’not quite last place.’"

"Four hundred points isn’t insurmountable," Alexander said from the front row. His voice carried the kind of quiet authority that made people listen. "We closed a bigger gap in the spring semester last year."

"Before the incident," someone muttered from the back.