LYRA‘S POV
The final bell of the afternoon didn’t just ring; it felt like a starting gun.
The moment the high-pitched digital tone resonated through the marble corridors of the east wing, the invisible lines of the academy shifted once more. Just like in Economics, the scholarship students in my advanced calculus seminar sat entirely motionless, their hands pinned to their desks like obedient soldiers waiting for the trench officers to clear the field.
Down in the lower tiers, the legacy students took their time. They gossiped about an upcoming weekend yacht excursion to the northern bay, slowly folding their sleek tablet folios and adjusting their pristine, gold-trimmed blazers. Every second they wasted was a tick of a clock that was currently suffocating me.
My phone was heavy in my
