The morning classes ended with the particular collective exhale of students who had been sitting still for several hours and were ready to stop doing that.
The corridors filled immediately. The specific quality of movement that happens when a large number of people are all going to the same place with the same purpose.
The cafeteria pull was universal and democratic. Rank didn't matter when everyone was hungry.
Azael fell into the flow of it beside Morgan, the two of them moving through the corridor at an easy pace without particular conversation.
They had settled into a comfortable rhythm already, that takes some people weeks to establish and others manage in a day, built on the shared quality of neither of them needing to fill every silence with something.
"Azael."
He turned.
