ALESSIA
Logan chose a coffee shop off-campus, three blocks past the Academy wall, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and a barista who didn't look up when we came in, which I understood now was precisely why he'd chosen it.
He looked worse than he had at the gate nineteen days ago. Thinner around the eyes. A tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there even in the car, when he'd been managing several things simultaneously and managing them adequately. Whatever this was, it had cost him sleep.
"Ethan requested a meeting," Logan said, before either of us had sat down fully. "With me. Through Fred's office, official channel, framed as pack business between New Orleans and Shadowcrest. He wants to discuss what he's calling 'territorial overlap concerns' regarding fashion program en
