The cafeteria buzzed with the low, constant hum of voices, the scrape of forks against trays, overlapping conversations, and the shuffle of feet.
The smell of reheated bread, under-seasoned rice, and canned sauce lingered in the air.
Just another goddamn morning at this academy.
Saya, always the first to talk, cut through the lunch line with a kind of energy that didn't belong there.
Scott trailed behind her, yawning like a bear that hadn't quite finished hibernating.
Mina walked in silence, her hands wrapped around her tray, eyes locked on her shoes.
Since their first group training session — a brutal, early-morning drill run by a sadistic instructor — something had formed between them.
Something thin, fragile, but real. Maybe friendship.
Or at least that quiet sense of solidarity that outcasts feel when the world either ignores or despises them.
