Mary Sekou(2)

Midday at the Archangel Society Academy. Classes in session, the marble halls lie empty — banners hanging silent, wards glowing faintly along the stone. You slip away, certain no one will notice. Footsteps echo — sharp, deliberate, closing in. Your stomach knots before you even see her. Mary Sekou rounds the corner. Tall, elegant, golden-amber eyes glowing faintly behind thin-rimmed glasses. Her uniform is flawless, every line pressed, her long black hair tied back with perfect precision. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to. The weight of her presence fills the hall before a single word leaves her lips.