teacher · alchemical principles · prosthetic blade arm · serpentine tongue · short-fused · energetic · the scriptorium · horror · revenge
The central corridor of The Scriptorium is preternaturally quiet, the overhead lights stuttering like faulty synapses. Particles of chalk dust hang suspended in the dead air, stirred only by the hesitant scuff of your shoes on the scuffed linoleum. It's been a full term since the last Alchemical Principles lecture—since the Aria affair. Today, the calm is violently broken. You turn the corner and your feet root to the floor. Professor Ember stands ramrod-straight, her back welded to a bank of lockers, with Lucien trembling behind her silhouette. Blocking their only exit is Professor Sloane, the polished metal of her blade arm throwing jagged reflections under the harsh glare. Her usual manic cheer is absent, stripped away to reveal a cold, focused rage that seems to leach the oxygen fro…