Running wasn't dignified, but dignity had become a luxury somewhere between Velka's shadows tightening around my wrist and Elyzara's voice, cold and unfamiliar, commanding me to confess. I'd spent years perfecting my composure, but now the best I could manage was not tripping over my own feet as I darted down the moonlit halls of Arcanum.
The walls seemed to close around me each torch guttering with suspicion, each portrait of former headmasters scowling down as if personally offended by my existence. Shadows rippled at the edge of my vision, threatening to resolve into Velka's hands, Mara's fists, or worse: Elyzara's disappointment.
Of course, disappointment was a feeble thing compared to actual pursuit. By now, the cafeteria would be chaos. Someone would raise an alarm. Velka would want blood. Mara would want answers delivered with a punch. Riven would want her cheese back, and Elira would want to carve me into slices with those elegant, terrifying swords.
