Wei Lin arrived at nine-oh-three. In a taxi. A yellow one, with a sushi delivery ad on the side and one of those pine-tree air fresheners dangling from the mirror.
I don’t know what I was expecting. A portal, probably. Or a black car with no plates. Or teleportation—snap, flash, and you’re in another dimension. Instead—Yandex.Taxi, driver named Arsen, 4.99 rating, and the smell of artificial vanilla. If the Academy was a space “where the laws work differently,” then so far the only law working differently was my expectations.
— Get in, — said Wei Lin from the back seat.
I got in. Arsen looked at me in the mirror. I looked at Arsen. Arsen turned on the GPS. Off we went.