The certainty stayed with me after the picnic.
That quiet feeling from lying on the grass, listening to Mark joke and Liana wonder aloud about the future. It lingered through the week, softening Crestwood's sharp edges just enough to make life feel almost ordinary.
Almost.
By Friday morning, the academy buzzed with excitement. Notices had been posted everywhere.
Spring Festival.
Student-led activities.
Creative booths.
Evening lantern release.
Liana nearly tackled me in the hallway when she saw my name on the volunteer list.
"We got the lantern booth," she announced proudly. "Which means paint, glitter, and mild chaos."
Mark appeared behind her carrying a crate. "And manual labor. Mostly manual labor."
The courtyard transformed by noon. Colorful banners stretched between pillars, music played softly from hidden speakers, and the air smelled like sugar, wax, and warm bread. Students moved freely, laughing louder than usual, jackets tossed aside as if status mattered less for one day.
At our booth, lantern frames were stacked neatly beside jars of paint. Students came in waves, some carefully planning their designs, others splashing color without thought.
"This one's crooked," a billionaire boy complained.
"Then it has character," Liana replied without looking up.
I smiled as I helped a younger student steady her brush. Moments like this felt strangely precious. No debates. No evaluations. Just creation.
Even Seraphine Roth appeared, examining the lanterns critically.
"You should organize these by size," she suggested.
"Or you could paint one," I said lightly, handing her a brush.
She hesitated, then took it. For once, she did not argue.
As the sun dipped lower, lanterns were carried toward the central plaza. Hundreds of them. Painted with symbols, wishes, names, and dreams no one said aloud.
That was when I noticed them.
My sister stood at the edge of the crowd, careful and quiet. Julian Montague stood nearby, not beside her, not touching her, but close enough that I felt the tension from where I stood.
They exchanged only a few words. A smile. A glance held half a second too long.
No one else noticed.
I turned away first.
Some secrets survived because you chose not to look at them too hard.
Night settled gently over Crestwood. The lantern release began.
Liana squeezed my hand. "Ready?"
Mark counted softly. "Three. Two. One."
We lifted our lanterns together. The flames caught, warm and steady, and then we let go.
They rose slowly. Hundreds of glowing lights drifting upward, scattering across the dark sky like fallen stars finding their way home.
I watched mine float higher, carrying nothing written on it. No wish. No promise.
Just space.
Around me, students laughed and pointed, their faces lit gold. For tonight, Crestwood was not a cage or a proving ground. It was music and light and voices carried on warm air.
I felt it again. That same quiet certainty from before.
That even in a world built on power and control, moments like this could still exist.
And as the lanterns disappeared into the night, I held onto that feeling.
Because I knew it would not last forever.
But for now, it was enough.