The courtyard, usually bustling with students, was now a place of quiet contemplation. The incident had everyone on edge, a reminder that the academy’s perfect image was just a veneer.
I caught snippets of conversations as I walked past groups of students. Whispers of fear and disbelief circulated like wildfire.
Everyone was walking on eggshells, unsure of who might be next.
And the administration? They were more concerned with damage control than addressing the root of the problem.
“Did you hear what happened?” someone muttered as I passed by.
“Yeah, it’s all over social media now,” another voice answered, tinged with concern.
I kept my head down, unwilling to engage in the speculation.
The Sovereign Convoy was just around the corner, and the pressure to perform was immense.
Being selected for the event was an honor, but the recent events cast a long shadow over any excitement.
In the quiet moments, I questioned my motivations. Was I here to succeed at any cost, or was there something more?
The academy’s promise of success felt hollow, weighed down by the realities of exclusion and silence.
Every step I took felt heavier, as if the ground itself was pulling me down.
Yet, there was a part of me that wanted to believe things could change.
But how?
And at what cost?
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
