Monday morning arrived like a slap.
The academy hallways buzzed with the usual chaos—lockers slamming, laughter echoing off marble floors, groups of students shoving past each other on their way to first period. The weekend rain had left puddles in the courtyard that reflected the gray sky, and the air smelled faintly of wet stone and coffee from the student lounge.
Isla kept her head down as she walked toward the servants’ corridor that led to the main building. She wore her usual uniform: crisp white blouse, navy skirt, sensible black shoes. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Nothing flashy. Nothing that should draw attention.
But attention found her anyway.
She turned the corner near the east wing staircase and nearly collided with Amy and Sera—two girls from the upper-ye
