The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the dormitory, casting soft golden patterns on the wooden floor. Leo sat at his desk, idly spinning a small dagger in his hand. The blade glinted with each rotation, reflecting his thoughts, which were elsewhere—far away from the confines of Crimson Academy.
His mind retraced the events of the previous day: the ferocious wolves, the drake, and the unnatural silence that followed their defeat. It all felt like pieces of a larger puzzle, fragments of something hidden beneath the surface.
Behind him, Tristen stirred, groaning softly as he stretched. He blinked groggily, his hair a mess, before sitting up and yawning loudly.
"You're up early," Tristen remarked, rubbing his eyes.
"Couldn't sleep," Leo replied, his voice neutral, his gaze fixed on the dagger.
