The scent of blood and dirt was a stark contrast to the memory flashing through Leona's mind as she fell unconscious…
In her head, the dorm kitchen remained pristine as always, kept immaculate by the academy's maids. The scent of freshly prepared food filled the air, and by the stove stood a young boy in an academy uniform, his expression gloomy.
It was a recent memory—her and Damon sneaking around the war halls after hours, seeking a midnight snack. Well, the snack was for her, though she had made Damon cook an entire course meal. Some days, he was unusually hungry and ended up eating just as much as she did.
"Bestie, what are you making?" she had asked, leaning over the counter with a grin.
Damon turned his head, his face shadowed with irritation.
"I get paid to cook for you, Leona. Call me 'bestie' again, and I'll make your food salty."
She pouted, puffing her cheeks.
"You're so gloomy and negative. No wonder I'm your only friend."
Damon sneered.
