I feel a deep unease as I pull my clothes on after patrol ends.
Two attacks in a fortnight is highly unusual, I remark again to Astraea. My brain refusing to stop circling the same thoughts.
It is probably time to let the headmaster know. He may still be here. We saw a light on up there earlier, she says.
I make my way across the grounds, passing the site of our rogue encounter along the way.
We fought extraordinarily well together, Astraea says quietly, unmistakable pride in her voice.
I do not answer.
Poetic, even, she adds.
We are made to fight with higher ranks, I remind her, do not romanticise it.
We were, but not like that. It felt almost scripted, Astraea says, her voice barely a whisper.
My eyes fall on the smear of blood leading towards the edge of the woodland.
He alrea
