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... in the west wing’s room—where the past lingered. Furniture, trunks, and dust filled the space, the air heavy with the scent of time and neglect. Every creak of the floor seemed deafening in the otherwise stifling silence.

Ruelle’s fingers trailed over faded wood as she opened a trunk, pulling out the curtains first, beneath it was a deep blue fabric. It was an Elite’s robe. She wondered if it belonged to a past student.

"I can’t believe we are doing this," Kevin whispered, glanci ...

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