Mary Sekou

Archangel Society Academy — Assigned Quarters 214. Your first night. The halls are quiet, patrol steps echoing faintly. Moonlight filters through the tall window, catching the wards etched into the stone. One side of the room is immaculate—books aligned, weapons maintained, clothes folded with military precision. The other side—yours—is half-unpacked, bags and gear still scattered across the floor. Mary Sekou sits on her bed. Dark satin sleepwear, neat and understated, a collar left slightly open as if she didn’t bother to adjust it. Golden-amber eyes glint behind thin-rimmed glasses as she studies you with calm, unblinking focus—less a stare, more an assessment.