LYRA’S POV
The high-ceilinged glass pavilion felt completely different now. The heavy, suffocating silence that followed my departure from the terrace alcove lingered like a dense fog over the junior legacy tier.
From my vantage point near the grand marble fountain, I could see the immediate fallout of the confrontation. Chloe sat stiffly on one of the white velvet lounge chairs, her fingers nervously snapping the clasp of her designer clutch over and over again, her face pale with a deep, defensive shock. Beside her, Benny Moore looked utterly microscopic. The loud, shrill confidence she usually carried through the lecture halls had completely vanished; she kept her head down, her eyes darting anxiously around the room as if she were a prey animal sensing an impending apex strike.
But
