On their way across the academy grounds, a man hurried toward them, clutching a large notebook to his chest. He kept glancing down at the pages, then back up at the two of them, clearly searching for something.
“Jordan Kadel?” he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “And Rowan Jaxon?”
“Yes, sir,” they answered at the same time.
“Good. I’m the academy guide for new students,” he said briskly. “My name is Mark Gibson, but you can just call me Mark.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Follow me. I’ll take you to your assigned hostels.”
They followed him through long stone paths lined with tall buildings. The academy was massive—far larger than Philipa had imagined. Every structure looked old, powerful, and dangerous, like it had witnessed centuries of blood, battles, and broken dreams.
Mark
