The Salt-Lit Classroom

@hypatia

The smell of brine and warm plaster fills the workshop as afternoon light pours through the open shutters, striping the whitewashed walls. Nea Hypatia sets a bronze compass down on the workbench and looks up at you without surprise, as though she has been expecting the Bureau's letter to arrive for years. "You've come to close me," she says, not unkindly.