The victory in the Arena Sector did not bring peace. It brought a heavy, suffocating silence.
Vane walked down the central spine of the Academy's academic wing. The corridor was crowded with students moving between lectures, a river of grey and silver uniforms.
Then he stepped into the light of the atrium.
The noise died.
The reaction was immediate. A group of Second Year students stood near the lockers, wearing the double-silver trim of the upperclassmen. They had been laughing a moment ago. When they saw Vane, the laughter cut off as if someone had severed a wire.
They didn't jeer. They didn't block his path. They didn't try to shoulder-check him as they had done at the start of the semester.
They moved.
They pressed themselves against the marble walls. They averted their eyes. They created a ten-foot radius of empty space around him. It was the way a herd of deer reacted to a wolf walking through a meadow. They weren't attacking. They were hoping he wasn't hungry.
