The afternoon had already softened by the time Trafalgar left his friends behind and headed through the academy corridors toward the meeting room. Classes were over, but the place had not gone quiet. Voices drifted through the halls in loose currents. A few students crossed from one wing to another with books tucked under their arms. The last warmth of day spilled through the tall windows and ran across the stone in long amber bands. It should have felt ordinary. In a way, it did. Even so, the summons from the four directors gave the walk a faint weight.
He was halfway there when he saw Aubrelle ahead.
That alone would not have stopped him.
What did stop him was her face.
No blindfold.
His step slowed on its own. She had always worn it inside the academy, so constantly that its absence struck harder than the scar itself. There was nothing dramatic in the way she carried it either.
