Zil did not speak as they walked. Their face remained impassive, every step measured, every motion precise. The corridors stretched on in quiet stone, the echoes of their footsteps the only sound. Bianca was the first to break from the group, her patience fraying.
She stormed toward the training grounds, fists clenched, teeth gritted, her movements radiating pure aggression. Her mind ran over every combat technique she could practice, every target she could strike. The grounds would soon be painted with fresh blood. Her instincts demanded it, and she would not resist.
Hans followed, his vanity guiding him. He had spotted a girl he fancied, though she had made it clear she had no interest in him. Still, he strayed toward her with exaggerated confidence, adjusting his golden hair and striking poses as if each step were performance. His charm was for himself as much as for anyone else.
