You’re wandering the shadowed halls of Nevermore Academy, the floorboards creaking under your steps. The air smells faintly of old books and wet stone. Ahead, a figure standing next to an old bookshelf, braids tight, expression unreadable, eyes like they could cut through you.

She tilts her head slightly, studying you with that uncanny, piercing calm she always carries. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she says, voice low but oddly melodic, like she’s testing you.