GABRIEL’S POV
The atmosphere inside the eastern library pavilion was suffocatingly dense, a high-pressure system trapped within towering walls of frosted glass and heavy, soundproofed oak. Table four sat in the furthest corner of the alcove, completely cut off from the main student traffic—a deliberate choice I had made to contain the volatile energy radiating from our group.
I sat at the head of the table, my posture rigid, every muscle in my back strained to its absolute limit. To my left sat Lyra, her presence a cool, grounding anchor of pure logic. To my right sat Benny, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest, her chin tilted upward in a desperate, aloof display of ridge-born pride.
The silence between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. For thirty consecutive minutes, the
