Maggie had never been a fan of forced social gatherings, but she was used to them after years of opening night ballet galas and mandatory dinner with her parents’ friends and supporters. So she maneuvered the room with ease, moving seamlessly through the headmaster’s office, slipping between pairs of chatting society members as she made her way towards the chairs near the grand fireplace. It was kind of the headmaster to gather them all together for a low-stress event, especially after the high-stress goings-on at the school of late. Even still, it was as though after Quentin’s death (murder, she reminded herself with a slight shiver), the whole world had shifted slightly, tilting a few degrees the wrong way. Just enough to notice that the atmosphere was different, somehow. “It doesn’t feel right,” she murmured aloud, her heartbeat fluttering in her chest.