There are moments when peace feels heavier than war.
When everything goes quiet, and you're left with the echoes of what you've done — or failed to do.
Lately, the academy feels too calm. Classes resumed, corridors filled again, and the usual noise returned: students laughing, gossip spreading, boots echoing on the tiles. It's supposed to be normal, but something about it feels artificial. Like the world is pretending to breathe while holding its lungs full of smoke.
I've seen that kind of calm before — the kind that comes after storms. It doesn't mean safety. It means exhaustion. Everyone's pretending the worst is behind us, but deep down, we all know the cracks are still there, waiting.
Maybe that's why I've been quieter than usual. Maybe because silence is the only thing that still feels honest
Amelia hasn't noticed yet, or maybe she has and chooses not to mention it.
