Amberine dragged her feet as she entered the lecture hall, dark circles visible under her eyes. Her usually fiery red hair was a mess, and her uniform had wrinkles from days of little to no sleep. Elara, just behind her, looked no better. Her stoic expression was still there, but her pristine appearance had given way to slight disarray—an unusual sight for the perfect prodigy. Maris followed, looking pale and haggard, her steps slow and hesitant as if each one required more energy than she could afford. They exchanged tired glances, each acknowledging the sleepless nights spent agonizing over Draven's exam.
"You look like you fell into a bonfire," Elara muttered to Amberine, her voice deadpan but with a rare glint of amusement.
Amberine snorted, running a hand through her tangled hair. "Look who's talking, ice queen. You look like you haven't seen a pillow in a week."
