“The dining hall is open twenty-four hours,” Mannik explained as we joined the queue at the serving counters. “We’re dark mages. Necromancers, curse specialists, creatures of the night. Night shifts are common. So are midnight cravings.”

  “That’s… practical,” I said, eyeing the long rows of students. Some whispered conspiratorially over textbooks. Others ate with the intensity of people who had either cast something exhausting or survived something worse.

  “It is,” he added smugly. “Though we do keep a schedule. Six a.m. breakfast. Twelve lunch. Four dinner. Nine supper. Two in the morning — emergency sustenance. Just don’t expect the full selection if you arrive fashionably late, but there’s always something to keep starvation at bay.”

  I barely heard him. The food was hypnotic.

  House spirits in blindingly white hats zipped between counters like highly caffeinated kitchen spirits. Rolls launched themselves from ovens. Stew levitated with dignified grace. Plates obeyed finger-snaps. It was impressive. Slightly unsettling, but impressive.

  I loaded my tray like someone preparing for a siege: stewed meat, two garlic-butter rolls, a salad resembling some kind of enchanted green chrysanthemum, and a substantial portion of roasted potatoes. After a moment’s consideration, I added sausages and some meat pies.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  For the cat. Or whoever it was.

  Mannik raised an eyebrow.

  “Planning for winter?”

  “I might vanish into another architectural nightmare in the next hour,” I muttered, gripping my tray defensively. “I’m hedging my bets.”

  “Strategic paranoia. Admirable.” he snorted, leading me toward one of the long tables.

  We sat. The food was excellent. Honestly unfairly good. I almost forgot how many times I was nearly killed this week. Mannik talked about minor academy gossip. I replied. For five glorious minutes, I felt like a student instead of a recurring disaster.

  Then he went quiet.

  I frowned at his suddenly pale expression and realised the atmosphere around us had shifted. The air felt colder.

  I turned slowly.

  Dean Grey stood a short distance away. Tall. Immaculate. Terrifyingly furious like he’d considered violence and rejected it purely on principle.

  His grey eyes were lit with something carefully contained. The air around him felt charged — like before lightning strikes.

  “Mannik,” he said quietly. No need to raise his voice. “Faculty table. Now. And do not eat with students.”

  Mannik turned even paler. His easy smile vanished as though it had never existed. He stood so fast he abandoned his tray entirely and left with the subtlety of a man fleeing a death sentence.

  I stayed seated, fork in my hand and heart somewhere near my throat.

  Grey’s gaze settled on me.

  There was something that made a chill run straight through me. And suddenly I was very aware that in this Academy, you didn’t need someone to shout to feel threatened.

  Fantastic, what have I done this time?