People suddenly dash toward the main gate, running frantically as though their lives depend on it. With the crowd's stomping and panicked rush, we have no choice but to join in, jogging back the way we came.
“This is so unprofessional and uncalled for!” Myra yells as we hurry along. As usual, Helen barely breaks a sweat, moving with a lightness as if it were a casual walk in the park.
But a thought crosses my mind. I pause, casting a glance back at the second gate, still pulsing with magic, and remember the envelope my dad gave me.
‘If we return now, we could request “special treatment” from the guards and bypass the normal admission process. Is that really what we want?’
Unable to sort it out, I start jogging again, and luckily, Myra hasn’t caught on to my hesitation. After a gruelin
