Housing was decided without discussion.

  A clerk checked Lysara’s token, glanced once at her clothing, and marked a line through a column she never saw the heading for. Another seal. A map and pointed in a direction.

  “Dormitory C,” the clerk said. “Third floor.”

  Lysara nodded. She did not ask about single rooms. She already knew the answer.

  The dormitory smelled faintly of soap and old stone. Students moved through the halls with the ease of repetition—doors opening without hesitation, greetings exchanged without introduction. Excitement layered over nerves she no longer had.

  Her room held four beds. Two were already claimed.

  One girl sat cross-legged on her mattress, sorting notes with practiced efficiency. The other leaned against the window, laughing quietly at something Lysara couldn’t hear. They glanced up as she entered— One of them paused a beat too long, her gaze flicking up and away again.

  “Hey,” one said.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Hi,” Lysara replied.

  She took the bottom sleep alcove near the door. Satchel down. Blanket unrolled.

  Everything small. Everything contained.

  As the room settled around her, Lysara watched.

  Hair braided tight and tucked away. No loose strands. No wildness. No shimmer caught accidentally in the light.

  Her potion had thinned to nothing by afternoon. She could feel it now—the faint heat behind her eyes, the way light clung a moment too long.

  Bangs, she thought.

  That should be enough.

  She waited until the room emptied for dinner.

  When the door closed, she loosened her braid and studied her reflection in the small mirror.

  Long hair—more pink than brown.

  Eyes too bright. S

  he took her knife from her pack and cut carefully. Just the front. A small adjustment.

  The hair fell unevenly at first. She trimmed again.

  When she looked up, her eyes were half-shadowed—but the contrast only made them sharper. Brighter. Wrong.

  She exhaled slowly.

  Down the hall, a narrow alcove held a wooden chest marked LOST & FOUND. Inside were scarves, gloves, a cracked lens case.

  Plain spectacles. Round frames. Slightly bent.

  She hesitated, then put them on.

  The world dulled a fraction. Edges softened. Her eyes vanished behind glass and reflection.

  Better.

  Back in her room, she braided the rest of her hair tightly and lay back on the bed, hands folded over her stomach. The ceiling above her was etched with faint mana-lines, steady and impersonal.

  She did not feel safer.

  But she felt less visible.

  And for now, that would have to be enough.