The cafeteria hummed with the low buzz of first-year students—forks clinking against plates, laughter rising in bursts, floating trays gliding smoothly between tables like obedient familiars.
Aiden's group occupied their long table near the arched windows, sunlight spilling across the white oak surface and making the silver runes etched into it shimmer faintly with each new bite taken.
The floating trays had already delivered their orders—steaming plates, golden pastries, chilled glasses of juice—and the wives were eating with varying degrees of enthusiasm, silverware moving in lazy, contented rhythm.
Vegia took a small, careful sip of her juice—orange liquid glowing softly in the glass—then set it down with a quiet clink. "Why do you think she took him?" she asked, voice soft but curious, glancing toward the arched exit Aiden and Mira had disappeared through earlier.
