The week following the startling revelation about my powers and the looming threats felt like a blur. Nordholt Academy's halls buzzed with anticipation for the approaching Midsummer Ball. Between classes and the general school excitement, I found myself immersed in a whirlwind of activity. The prospect of the upcoming event served as a temporary diversion from the unsettling truths that had unfolded.
As Monday rolled around, I navigated through lectures and assignments, attempting to reclaim a semblance of normalcy. The air was charged with the palpable anticipation of the impending ball. During lunch at the cafeteria, my thoughts were interrupted by Enzo Casiraghi, weaving his way into my day. His approach mirrored a careful manoeuvre, as if tiptoeing around an invisible boundary. I brac
