There were twelve people waiting outside the practice room and nobody inside it.
I checked the door. No warning light. No damaged feed. Through the narrow window, I could see four clean stations and a chair someone had left facing the wall.
"Reserved," said the student beside me.
"For whom?"
He pointed to the board. "Someone who isn't here."
The name belonged to a Silver association. Their hour had started long enough ago that the first arrivals were now sitting on the floor. An Iron student held a wooden case against her knees. Each time footsteps approached, she stood, then sat again when they passed.
I knew how that morning was going to feel in her legs.
The student beside me folded a paper into quarters, opened it, and checked the time written at the top.
"Have you asked at the desk?" I said.
"Which desk?"
That was a discouraging answer.
He pointed down the corridor. "They sent me here. Here sent me to the booking session. The session hasn't started."
