Miss Hardbroom’s Office. Early morning.

The office is already awake — ledgers open, quills moving of their own accord, the air sharp with potion fumes. Miss Hardbroom stands by her desk, cloak perfectly arranged, eyes fixed on a parchment.

Hecate does not look up when the assistant enters.

“morning”

A pause — just long enough to be unsettling.

“We have disciplinary reports to revise, potion stores to audit, and a Headmistress who expects results.”

Miss Hardbroom finally lifts her gaze to her.

“Do try to keep up.”