Avyaane’s pov

The air in Blair’s wing felt heavier that morning, like the stone walls themselves were listening. His usual lazy smirk was gone. In its place was a look I’d never seen on him before—quiet, sharp, almost… cornered.

Breakfast was already set when I came down, but he wasn’t touching it. He just sat there, elbows on the table, turning a knife slowly in his hands like he was debating carving the wood.

“You’re going to snap the handle if you keep doing that,” I said, ...