Chapter 305: Dinner is Served[2]

Amanda’s red hair was pulled back into a neat braid that rested over one shoulder.

A few loose strands had escaped around her face, softening her appearance.

Her violet eyes moved across the dining hall with quiet awareness, taking in the crowded tables, the arriving delegations, and finally the booth at the rear.

She moved with a quiet effortless composure and steady confidence, almost as though everything within the room was beneath her.

Anthony Grant was the exact opposite.

He followed behind her, continuing to talk.

His messy blonde hair had been left loose as usual, falling naturally around his forehead and the sides of his face.

It was one of the few things about his appearance that seemed genuinely careless. His grey eyes, however, were anything but.

His gaze swept across the hall with a quiet observant sharpness carrying that faint trace of amusement.

His collar was slightly loose and his jacket unbuttoned. His hands remained tucked casually into his pockets as he continued his argument.

Amanda stopped walking. Anthony nearly walked into her. She turned slowly.

"You’re still talking about that?"

Anthony’s mouth curved into a smug smile.

"Naturally."

"You’ve been talking about it since we left the examination hall."

"Because I was right."

"You got three questions wrong."

"Four."

Amanda stared at him.

"You failed to answer three questions because you spent twenty minutes trying to prove the instructor’s key was wrong," Amanda said, her tone dripping with quiet exasperation.

​"I proved his key was outdated," Anthony corrected smoothly, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.

"There’s a difference. He thanked me afterward. Privately, of course, to preserve his dignity."

​"He gave you a warning for insolence, Anthony. I was standing right there."

​"A technicality," Anthony airily dismissed, catching sight of the corner booth.

"Ah. Look at this. The entire survival committee sitting together. How cozy."

"Sit down before someone throws a fork at you," Cassius called out from the booth.

​Amanda walked over, sliding into the seat beside Kelia.

Anthony pulled up an empty chair from an adjacent small table and angled it toward the end of the booth, settling down with the fluid, relaxed grace of someone who believed he owned every room he walked into.

​"You’re late too," Xander noted, looking at Amanda.

"Did he trap you in an argument in the corridor?"

​"He’s been speaking continuously since we left the library," Amanda said, setting her slate on the table and picking up a glass of ice water.

"I considered zapping him to buy a few precious minutes of silence.

"You wouldn’t," Anthony grinned, leaning his head on his hand as he looked at her.

"You enjoy my conversation. It’s the only intellectually stimulating part of your afternoon."

​"I enjoy silence," Amanda replied, taking a slow sip without looking at him. "Which is something you seem physically incapable of producing."

"I bring life to the group," Anthony said, turning his sharp gaze toward Lucian.

"Isn’t that right, Lucian? You’ve been sitting there looking like a shadowy statue for twenty minutes. Tell Amanda how much you missed my vibrant presence."

​Lucian looked up from his hands. He stared at Anthony silently for a moment—a flat, unblinking look that would have made most Initiates shift uncomfortably.

​"I didn’t," Lucian said quietly.

​Cassius let out a sudden, loud bark of laughter, slamming his palm against the dark wood again.

"Direct hit! Ash wins in one word!"

Anthony simply clicked his tongue, entirely unbothered, his smirk widening slightly.

"Boring as ever. I respect the consistency."

​The service drone arrived moments later, hovering quietly beside the table as it unloaded a series of heavy ceramic plates—thick cuts of dry-aged beef, roasted garlic potatoes, steamed greens, and a large carafe of cold tea.

​For the next half hour, the tension that had hung over their group for the past month seemed to recede, replaced by the familiar, messy rhythm of old friends eating together.

Cassius ate with terrifying gusto, clearing his plate in minutes before eyeing the remaining potatoes in the center bowl.

Kelia quietly slid her remaining slice of grilled bread onto his plate before he could ask, a subtle gesture that Cassius accepted with a grin and a quick nod.

​Xander kept the conversation moving, dropping subtle pieces of institutional news—how Headmaster Whizen was handling the arrival of House Ravenwood, the rumors about independent teams from the outer sanctuaries, and the strict rules being imposed on the academy’s training grounds prior to the Veilrend Games.

Amanda and Anthony traded sharp, rhythmic banter across the table.

When Anthony reached over to pick up a side dish without asking, Amanda calmly tapped her fork against the edge of his plate with a tiny, audible snap of static that made Anthony flinch, pulling his fingers back a bit.

He chuckled, his grey eyes lingering on her annoyed expression with obvious amusement.

Lucian quietly listened. He watched Cassius complain about portion sizes, watched Kelia casually pull Cassius back by his sleeve when he got too animated, watched Xander manage the flow of the room like he was still leading the Student Council.

​For the first time in weeks, the quiet, suffocating weight in Lucian’s chest felt a little lighter.

Anthony was in the middle of reaching for his tea glass when his entire body went rigid. His hand stopped awkwardly above the glass, his fingers curling slightly.

Amanda’s noticed the change instantky, slowly placing her glass down.

Anthony didn’t answer.

He brought his right hand up to his temple, his knuckles pressing hard into his head as he felt a sudden, intense pressure behind his eyes.

​"Anthony, what is it?" Amanda asked again, her tone dropping its sarcastic edge completely, turning low with genuine concern.

Cassius stopped chewing, his shoulders tensing as he instinctively looked around the dining hall for an immediate physical threat.

"Is someone messing with the table? A telepathic sweep from one of the visiting delegations?"

​"No," Anthony whispered. His voice was breathless, raspy, completely devoid of his usual polished confidence.

"No... it’s not a sweep."

​Xander leaned forward, resting his forearms flat on the wood. "Anthony. Talk to us. What are you sensing?"

​Anthony closed his eyes tightly, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"Its...its..."