By the time Lucavion finally rose from his seat, most of Grand Lecture Hall A had already emptied.
The last clusters of students moved between the descending rows while continuing arguments that had clearly begun the moment the collection wards released them. Someone near the western aisle was defending an answer with enough passion to suggest the examiner might materialize from the ceiling and award points for persistence. Another group had gathered around a girl comparing the final historical problem against three separate interpretations, which Lucavion considered an impressive commitment to suffering after the suffering had already ended.
He adjusted the cuff of his uniform and stepped into the aisle.
Isolde had disappeared several minutes earlier.
The lingering trace of mana she had threaded through her gaze had vanished with her, though Lucavion could still remember the exact sensation it left upon his awareness. Thin, deliberate, almost playful.
Or threatening.
