They barely made it out of the Yard before the next approach.
A girl this time—older, maybe fourth-year, posture carved from confidence. Her uniform crisp. Her House pin a sharp violet fang.
House Veylon.
She blocked their path with the polite arrogance of someone who'd never been told "no."
"Coren Vale?"
Soren stopped but didn't answer.
Mira sighed. "Here we go."
The girl smiled like a merchant about to negotiate a deal she'd already won.
"My House would like to extend—"
"No," Soren said.
She blinked. "You haven't heard the offer."
"I don't need to."
The girl tilted her head, studying him. "You think refusing makes you free?"
"It makes me consistent."
For a heartbeat, she searched his eyes, looking for the flaw in the stance.
She didn't find it.
Her smile thinned, sharpened. "The Academy is not kind to independents."
Soren stepped past her. "Neither am I."
She turned as he left. Her voice followed him like a quiet blade:
