Chapter 11: Drinking Party
Faculty Lounge.
The lounge was louder than I expected.
Instructors clustered around tables, laughing too hard at bad jokes, slamming mugs against wood, and pretending they weren't drowning in stress. The air smelled like alcohol and roasted meat, and a faint haze of smoke clung to the ceiling.
I stepped inside, already regretting it.
Roderick led the way, weaving through the crowd like he belonged there. I, on the other hand, got more than a few looks. Some curious. Some amused. Some outright suspicious.
Great. Exactly what I needed.
"Instructor Drelmont."
A familiar voice.
I turned my head. Alexander Gale.
Tall, polished, and radiating that effortless arrogance highbloods seemed to be born with. He was draped in a deep blue coat lined with silver, his long black hair tied neatly behind him. If I remembered right, he was one of the more influential instructors here—good with a blade, better with politics.
"Gale" I kept my tone neutral.