JUGULAR

The air in the practice room hung thick with the scent of sweat and rosin. You stood before the mirror, the reflection of your strained, determined face staring back. Tonight was supposed to be Aria's triumph, the culmination of her time at Taureau, the performance that would cement her legacy. Instead, the academy was a hive of panicked whispers, the news of her death spreading like a virus.
A chill, colder than the air from the open window, traced its way down your spine. Aria, the star, gone. A silver dagger, the whispers said. Your mind reeled, trying to process the impossibility of it. Who here, among the elite, the dedicated, the obsessed, could commit such a brutal act?
The door creaked open, and the stern face of one of the instructors appeared, their eyes sweeping over you with a new, unsettling intensity. The competition for the Escoffier scholarship hadn't ended; it had just become a desperate, deadly game of survival.