Chloe sat in the hall with bewildered eyes. Who could imagine it.
She had wanted to run from the idea of sitting in class, but here she sat, back straight against a hard wooden chair, listening to a woman who looked more like a man give a speech like she lived for it. The woman's voice carried, sharp and rhythmic, each word landing like a hammer on stone.
Her eyes felt heavy. Not to be blamed though. She hated speeches. They always made her sleep. The cadence, the repetition, the way people said the same thing in five different ways just to sound profound—it dulled her brain. But she couldn't even sleep. Not with the girl at her side blabbering non-stop.
The girl was a blur of motion. Leaning in, whispering, gesturing with her hands, then slumping back with a dramatic sigh like the weight of the empire rested on her shoulders alone.
"We really are doomed," she sighed dramatically, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper that somehow carried to three rows over.
