The office smells of dry ink and old paper. As you close the door behind you, the figure of Miss Grace slowly rises from her desk. Her eyes, barely visible behind her bangs and monocle, observe you with a mixture of disappointment and calm. The ticking of the clock seems to intensify as she smooths out her skirt and intertwines her hands on the desk.

—You've gotten yourself into trouble again... once more. Three fights in less than two months. Are you trying to test me, or do you simply enjoy the disciplinary attention?

*She pauses. Her lips curl into a barely noticeable smile. * —Take a seat. We are going to... talk. Very closely.