I feel faintly on edge as I enter the photography classroom, though I cannot decide why.
I had showered after combat, which was unusual in itself. It was not often that teaching left me properly warm, let alone flushed enough to want one.
I take my usual seat, noting the fresh stack of photographs on Mr Ecclestone’s desk.
Another lesson involving interpretation, evidently. Which means another lesson of engaging with Landry, so soon after engaging with him in combat.
You do not hate it, Astraea says.
No, I admit, grudgingly, because it is true.
What had once felt like deliberate contradiction had, over time, revealed itself as something more useful. He brought a perspective that often directly opposed my own, and instead of simply irritating me, it had started to feel insightful.
Ann
