The quiet hum of the evening settled over Sylvie's dorm room like a soft blanket. Outside, the faint glow of lamplight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting gentle lines across the floor. Her books lay untouched on the desk. The notes she had once reviewed religiously now sat half-open, forgotten.
She sat at the edge of her bed, her knees pulled in slightly, arms resting on them as she stared at the silent mana tablet on her nightstand. The events of the evening played on repeat in her mind—the scouts, the praise, the weight of it all.
Irina's words, though few, had been steady in her ears all night.
"You're being watched now. So tread with purpose."
Sylvie had taken those words to heart. Even now, as she sat alone, she could feel the shift. The way people had looked at her—evaluated her—was different. She wasn't just "promising" anymore. She was a candidate. A name. A prospect. And that meant... things would change.
