"You always stick with salad. Live a little, Lumi. Eat something that came from a can."
"Salad comes from dirt. Very natural."
"So do worms. Doesn't mean I'm eating them."
I was reaching for a plate when the cafeteria doors swung open and Headmaster Twilson walked in.
He didn't belong here. That was my first thought—a reflex, animal and immediate. Headmaster Twilson existed in offices and formal spaces, behind desks and closed doors. Seeing him walk across the cafeteria floor was like watching a predator wander into open grassland.
He wasn't here for the soup.
His gaze swept the room, unhurried, and when it landed on me, he smiled. Not warm. Satisfied. The smile of someone who had already won whatever game we were playing.
I set down my plate.
"Miss Orlav." His voice carried. Not shouting—he didn't need to shout. He had the kind of voice that created silence around itself, conversations dying in its wake like ripples spreading backward. "A moment of your time."
Ivy went still beside me. I could feel James's attention sharpen from somewhere in the line behind us. The cafeteria hadn't gone fully quiet, but enough people were watching. Enough people were listening.
Twilson had chosen his stage.
"Of course, Headmaster." I stepped out of line, leaving my tray on the counter. Meeting him in the open felt like walking into a clearing with no cover, but staying in line would've looked like hiding. "Is something wrong?"
"Not at all." He clasped his hands behind his back, the picture of administrative calm. "I simply wanted to check in.Ensure you're settling into your coursework. It must be quite an adjustment, coming from such a... unique background."
The pause beforeuniquewas surgical.
"I'm managing fine. Thank you for asking."
"Good, good." He nodded, grandfatherly, benevolent. The performance was flawless. "I understand you've been in contact with your sister. Rae Whitaker, isn't it?"
The words landed like stones dropped into still water. Around us, I felt the attention in the room crystallize—students who'd been half-listening now fully tuned in, processing this new information.Sister. Whitaker. Medicine woman.
He said it casually. Like it was common knowledge. Like he wasn't peeling back a layer of my life I'd deliberately kept covered.
"Rae and I are close," I said. My voice came out steady. I didn't know how. "Is that relevant to my coursework?"
"Only insofar as it relates to certain... accommodations." Twilson's smile didn't waver. "I've been informed that you've been granted weekly meetings with Silas. I want you to know that I personally authorized this arrangement."
He let that sit.I authorized it.Not Silas. Not Rae. Him.
"I appreciate that," I said carefully.
"However." The word was a door closing. "I want to be clear that this represents the full extent of any special scheduling. There will be no further accommodations. No schedule changes. No exceptions to standard academic policy."
The cafeteria had gone quiet now. Really quiet. I could hear the soup bubbling in its industrial vat, the hum of the overhead lights.
"I wasn't aware I'd requested any special treatment."
"No?" Twilson's eyebrows rose, a parody of surprise. "I was told there had been inquiries about adjusting class schedules.Requests to move certain sections, I believe. Rearrange timings to better suit your...friends."
I hadn't requested anything. The schedule changes—James appearing in all my classes—that hadn't been me. I didn't even know who to ask about something like that.
"Sir." James's voice cut in from behind me. I heard him step forward, felt the hum spike as he moved closer. "That was my doing. I asked about the schedule. Lumi didn't know anything about it."
Twilson didn't look at him.
The headmaster kept his eyes fixed on me, his expression unchanged, as if James hadn't spoken at all. As if the air where James stood was simply empty.
