The exam hall was a battlefield of brains, and every student was a soldier armed with pencils, erasers, and varying levels of desperation. Dylan, who had been whining incessantly earlier, was now eerily quiet. His head was bowed low, his pencil scribbling furiously as if his very life depended on it.
Asher, glancing over, muttered to Max, "What happened to him? He was practically crying a minute ago, and now he's in some kind of exam trance."
Max shrugged, whispering back, "He looks like he's been possessed by the ghost of an ancient scholar. I don't trust it."
