The night had not quieted.
Even with Leonard gone—his footsteps vanished into the mist, his presence bled from the air like a broken incantation—something still clung to the edge of Astron's senses.
They stood in silence for a beat longer. The group hadn't yet broken formation, as if waiting for a cue that hadn't come. The moonlight filtered soft and silver across the academy paths, catching the tips of leaves and the glint of mana wards embedded in the brickwork.
Eleanor White stood just a step ahead of them now, her back to the departing mist, her presence still pressing faintly outward in slow pulses.
Not hostile. Not violent.
But… unmistakably heavy.
Even Layla, usually the first to crack a joke, said nothing. Jasmine shifted once beside Irina, whose lips were set in a calm, contemplative line. Sylvie didn't speak either—her gaze half-cast downward, as if trying to calculate the weight of what hadn't been said.
Astron remained still.
But inwardly—
