You were rewriting a passage on Cheering Charms, half your mind on the weekend, when the air beside you changed.

Not a sound. Not a movement you could catch. Just a subtle shift in pressure, like someone had exhaled too close to your skin.

You looked down.

An envelope lay on your desk, where nothing had been a second before.

Dark green. Thick. The kind of parchment that felt expensive before you even touched it. A black wax seal stared up at you, glossy and untouched, the edges still faintly warm.

No one else in the room reacted. Not the girl to your left. Not the boy behind you, still scratching notes.

No one.