Isadora:
Madame Meera’s voice is a soft, endless drone about sigil theory when the door gives a low rasp.
A shadow cuts the lamplight, and in strolls Kai Rosewood, grin wide enough to be a dare.
“Dear Madame,” he says, all velvet and trouble, “forgive the interruption. A note from Headmistress Voss. Isadora is needed.”
Meera’s meek little face flushes pink. She stammers something that might be of course and almost drops her quill. Kai’s charm rolls through the room like a warm draft; every girl’s gaze tracks him as if he were the lesson.
I’m already gathering my books. My pulse flicks faster—Voss never sends for me mid-class.
The door closes behind us with a hush of wards.
I pivot left toward the main stair. “Office is this way.”
Kai’s hand ghosts around my wrist, not gripping, jus
