The isolated meditation pavilion in the Academy's northern quarter had been chosen with surgical precision—far enough from main campus that collateral damage would be minimized, close enough that response teams could arrive within minutes, architecturally open enough that escape routes were numerous but surveillance coverage was complete.
Riyan Descartes stood at the pavilion's center, his scarlet eyes tracking the evening shadows with analytical focus that barely concealed the controlled tension beneath. His Fire affinity manifested as subtle heat shimmer around his hands, his Darkness affinity coiling like living thing in the deepening dusk. He wore formal Descartes attire—black suit that announced his bloodline without ostentation, clothing expensive enough to mark him as high-value target.
