The halls of Ashwood had changed.
No—transformed.
The moment Ingrid and I stepped past the arched threshold of our dormitory wing, it was as though we’d entered a different version of the school entirely. The air felt thicker, dusted with something not quite scent and not quite spell, like powdered silver mixed with candle smoke and the hush of old magic woken from sleep. Every torch flickered more brightly than it had yesterday. Every shadow seemed to move with deliberate grace, as if even the darkness had dressed for the occasion.
Ingrid let out a long, breathy whistle. “Would you look at this place?”
“It's like walking through a dream,” I murmured, my voice almost lost in the hum of distant music and laughter. “Or a trap disguised as one.”
“You’re being dramatic,” she said, but her
