The classroom buzzed with the low hum of scratching quills and restless shifting, the air thick with the tension of an exam day.
Lor sat at his desk, his pen moving just enough to keep up appearances, his eyes scanning the room with a practiced nonchalance.
Viora was rubbing the side of her temple with the heel of her hand, her green eyes flicking between questions on her paper, frustration creasing her brow as if willing the answers to shift into something she could grasp.
Myra's quill had gone still, her lips caught between her teeth, her whispers a soft rhythm of panic—neither math nor spell theory, just a quiet chant of desperation.
Lor sighed, his breath barely audible.
Toren prowled the aisles like a hound sniffing for guilt, his heavy boots thudding softly against the wooden floor.
Every few minutes, he paused, peering over a student's shoulder with a smirk that promised trouble, his sharp eyes gleaming with the joy of catching someone off guard.
