The library at Luna Academy was never truly dark. Even at midnight, a soft, ambient glow emanated from the living crystals embedded in the vaulted ceiling, reflecting off the spines of thousands of books—some printed, some written in light, a few that seemed to be bound in whispers. Tonight, the usual quiet was different. It was a focused, breathless silence, thick with conspiracy.
Luna Kane stood on a stool, not because she needed the height, but because it made her feel more like a general. Before her, seated on oversized floor cushions or floating a few inches in the air, were the seventeen other hybrid children of the Academy. Their ages ranged from a tiny Japanese girl who could commune with electronics to a pair of British twins whose thoughts were a single, seamless stream. A Brazilian girl with gravity-defying curls absently made a handful of historical levitate in a slow orbit around her head.
