Students began rising throughout the hall, some stretching their hands, others rubbing their eyes or necks. The doors opened, and the second-years moved out in uneven lines. Almost immediately, whispers began forming. Not full discussions, but dangerous fragments.
"The third question—"
"Did you mention channel—"
"What did you put for—"
Mystica's voice floated after them, still lovely, still dangerous. "Do be careful. If I hear anything that resembles discussion of exam content, I will consider it malpractice, and I am in a mood to be creative."
The whispers died with impressive speed.
No one wanted Mystica creative in a disciplinary context.
