Later that evening,
I stepped into the dormitory, feeling like I had just emerged from battle.
The weight of the day pressed into my limbs, exhaustion curling at the edges of my mind like creeping shadows. My breath was slow, measured, but beneath it all was the steady hum of something deeper—relief, maybe, or the faintest thread of victory.
And then I saw it.
A box.
It sat perfectly still atop my neatly made bed, as if it had been placed there with careful intention. The sight of it made me pause mid-step.
It was pristine, the kind of white that seemed untouched, unmarred by dust or time. Its edges were razor-sharp, symmetrical, flawless—almost unnatural in its perfection. A single ribbon, deep crimson in color, was wrapped around it, tied into an immaculate bow at the center. The s
