The Dean's office was colder than the courtyard.

No candles. No warmth. Only the smell of burnt sage and iron ink.

Elowyn stood in front of the long black desk, hands clasped tight behind her back, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs. The female dean-Madam Seraphine Duskborne-sat still, her gray eyes sharp enough to slice through bone.

"Cadet Elyan Froste," Seraphine said softly, her tone sharp but calm. "Do you know why you're here?"

Elowyn swallowed. "No, ...