The Sanctuary Statute has turned Cravenmoor from gothic university into a polished oubliette, and every heir inside is starving for power—or simply starving. I can feel the pressure rising under the stone. When an arsonist reduces our seventeenth-century library to ash, armed mercenaries ring the moat and BBC drones circle overhead like carrion. Cravenmoor is no longer an academy; it’s a pressure cooker. Good. Because I’m ready to turn up the heat.