The envelope gleamed like it had no right to, resting in the hollow between Ingrid’s bed and mine—as if it had been dropped there by some unseen hand that knew exactly where to place a dagger when your guard was down.
I stared at it, unmoving. The world outside our dormitory window was a blur of gray clouds and skeletal branches, but inside, everything seemed too quiet. The envelope, its gold filigree catching the dim light with a shimmer that felt almost smug.
“Ingrid,” I said, my voice hoarse from disuse and the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin. “Look.”
She didn’t move at first. She was busy unlacing her boots with exaggerated effort, and muttering about her aching feet and the tyranny of staircase-heavy architecture. But the moment her gaze landed on the envelope, her e
