Trafalgar had already left the main building and was making his way toward the Academy dormitories.
He had a clear destination in mind, but one irritating detail remained: he had never had any reason to enter a room that was not his own. That meant he would have to ask someone where Bartholomew's room was, which felt faintly ridiculous when the whole Academy seemed to assume Trafalgar could walk anywhere he pleased and have the doors arrange themselves out of respect.
The campus had emptied out in a way that felt strange after months of constant movement. The paths were not deserted, but the usual flood of students had thinned into scattered figures crossing courtyards or heading between buildings with bags in hand. Many had already left with their families. Others were probably halfway home by now, eager to enjoy the freedom that came after the end of the year.
