The cafeteria at Silver Ridge Academy wasn’t a dining hall.
It was a damn arena masquerading as one.
Vaulted ceilings arched so high they vanished into shadow, beams carved with Lycan runes that pulsed in sync with the wards woven through the walls. The magic here didn’t just exist—it watched. It listened. It fed on emotion like a starving beast.
Stained-glass windows stretched floor to ceiling, fractured colors depicting the Great Accord—wolves clasping hands with fae, dragons bowing flame to treaties, moonlight binding the realms whether they liked it or not. The place practically hummed with history…and judgement.
Scent hit next—venison, fresh bread, citrus from enchanted fruit—and beneath all of it, that metallic tang of wards vibrating. Too aware. Too sentient.
And every head sna
