They didn't introduce her in the courtyard.
They made us wait.
That was deliberate.
Suspense is control.
For most of the morning, the Tier Alpha transfer existed only as a rumor with a face. Students pretended to focus during drills while watching the upper walkways for a glimpse of darker-trim uniform fabric.
Oversight let the tension simmer.
No explanation.
No biography.
No alignment statement.
Just uncertainty.
Which meant they wanted comparison before context.
I was in the mid-tier engagement hall when she finally stepped through the sliding doors.
No escort.
No announcement.
Just presence.
Conversations stopped without command.
That wasn't fear.
That was recalculation.
Her uniform wasn't flashy. It was cut sharper, tailored closer, reinforced along the sleeves where mana channels tend to strain. She wore it like it belonged to her—not like she was representing anything.
Her eyes scanned the room once.
Measured.
Stopped.
On me.
Only briefly.
