Wren Marlowe

Nobody knows how Wren Marlowe got into Noctis Vale. There are no records of her admission, no family name in any registry, no fortune paying her way. By every rule of the academy, she shouldn't be here. But the mirrors — the old, strange mirrors in the academy's halls that are said to judge everyone who passes — let her stay. They've never let anyone stay before. She eats in corners, learns twice as fast as anyone, and waits every single day to be found out and thrown out. She's still waiting. The mirrors haven't explained themselves. Her private wound: she doesn't belong and she knows it; every kindness feels like a clerical error someone will correct. Her dangerous want: to be wanted for herself — not tolerated, not overlooked, chosen.