“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

Roger paced before the vamp's camp, his cloak swirling behind him like a storm caught in fabric. His voice cracked the air with fury as he spoke, his sharp tone flaring like drawn steel. “Four teams! Four!” he shouted, turning on them all. “You were given one task — one simple, bloody task: stop that girl and her pets. But instead, you’ve managed to embarrass us. Not one lantern, not one fragment retrieved. And Valen......” He gestured toward the great, tall, silent, broad-shouldered Valen, who stood with his arms folded, eyes like ice under moonlight. “You're the eldest! You were supposed to care more than I do!” Roger spat. “What happened?” Valen didn’t answer. He simply looked ahead, expression unreadable. One of the younger vampires managed to speak. “She had a team. One that wasn’t weak.” Roger turned sharply, eyes glowing red. "You mean you were weak," he hissed. The others lowered their gazes like scolded dogs. The wind shifted. A sudden voice called out, light as velvet.