“Tell me again why it’s faster this year,” muttered Dorlin, the Arcane principal, nursing a chipped wine glass like it was an old wound. “I swear I just heard it outrun a Stone Born.” Chestnuts cracked lazily between Dean Arven’s fingers as she sat back in her chair, legs crossed, expression unreadable. The table before her held a half-open bottle of champagne, a mostly ignored plate of fruit slices, and a silver bowl of roasted seeds—most of which were already gone. Around the table, the other principals sat with varying degrees of discomfort. Not because of the refreshments, no. It was the elephant in the room—or more accurately, the Golem on the map. “Because,” Arven said, popping a chestnut into her mouth, “I increased its speed.” “You what?” Elmira, head of the Iron Fang’s faction, choked on her fruit and reached for water. “You cranked up the speed and the rage index? Are you trying to bury these kids alive?” “Seventy percent of the students who went through your portal ar