Morning arrived faster than expected.
Azael opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling — the clean, neutral plaster of a dormitory room that hadn't yet accumulated the small details that make a space feel lived in. He lay still for a moment, orienting himself, and then got up.
The bathroom was simple and well-appointed. He took his time, letting the hot water do its work, and came out feeling considerably more present than he had going in.
He crossed to the wardrobe and opened it.
The uniform was hanging exactly where the academy attendant had placed it the previous evening pressed and ready, arranged with the kind of impersonal precision that institutional clothing always has. He took it out and looked it over.
White shirt. Black trousers. A black blazer-length coat with clean blue lining along the collar and cuffs. A blue tie that, as Christina had mentioned back in Valemyr, indicated first year.
He put it on.
