Knock-knock-knock.
"Cecilia." Lazuardi sounded calm and patient from the other side of the door. "This is Lazuardi."
The room exploded.
Eastiel moved first, launching himself off the threshold, grabbing his uniform from the floor, his arms flailing, his legs tangling in the discarded sheets. He crashed into the bathroom door, bounced off, and stumbled sideways into Arkai, who was already reaching for his own clothes, his face the color of death.
"Move—move—move—" Arkai hissed, shoving Eastiel through the bathroom doorway. The lion stumbled, tripped over the threshold, and landed on his knees on the cold tile with a crack that made everyone wince.
Oathran was already inside, calmer, but his eyes were wide open now. He caught Eastiel by the arm, hauled him upright, and pulled him deeper into the bathroom, out of sight, out of frame.
