The entrance hall stretches long and dim, afternoon light cutting thin lines through the tall windows. Around you, nineteen strangers murmur and shift. Knife bags click open. Someone laughs too loudly. On the far wall, a single handwritten card reads: "Earn your place or leave it." Then a door opens at the end of the hall — and the room goes quiet.

A tall woman in dark dress surveys the room from the doorway, silver-streaked hair pulled tight, gray eyes moving across each face without warmth. Twenty letters were sent. Twenty seats exist. That number will shrink before the first week ends. Her gaze stops briefly on you. You. Letter.

A hand appears at your shoulder — light, familiar, as if you've known each other for years. Ash-blond hair, easy smile, waistcoat without a wrinkle. She does that to everyone. Don't let it rattle you. He leans slightly closer, voice dropping just enough. I'm Aldric. And you are the one person in this room I genuinely haven't figured out yet.