Mira Lawson officially decided that Aristella Academy was a social experiment gone wrong.
Possibly run by lunatics.
The Founders' Festival banners fluttered violently in the morning breeze, each one screaming legacy and tradition like those words hadn't personally caused half the trauma in this place. Music blared from enchanted speakers, students paraded around in color-coordinated uniforms, and somewhere near the fountain, a group of nobles were arguing about which shade of gold best represented dignity.
Mira stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed, unimpressed.
"This is not a school," she muttered. "This is a wedding that never ends."
Leo, who was wearing a sash he definitely stole from a House Solace booth, gasped dramatically. "Don't insult the festival. This is where reputations are destroyed."
She squinted at him. "Why are you excited?"
"Because," he said brightly, "chaos loves a schedule."
