The bell snapped the spell of the DBQ. Chairs scraped. Pens clicked shut. We had five minutes to reach the next class, which is exactly the amount of time it takes me to invent a plan I can’t possibly execute.

  How was I going to apply for a mission and still make it upstairs before the bell rang again?

  Simple. I wasn’t.

  The idea formed anyway, bold and inevitable. First, I had to loop Nikki in. Then, after the next period, I could sprint to the offices, float the plan to Principal Renner, and—boom—official sanction. Somewhere in there, I needed to ask September to join. Minor detail. Easy, right?

  Right on cue, class ended.

  Malachi was swallowed by his colony of friends—devotees, disciples, simps, take your pick—and dragged into the aisle by their noise. I dove. And when I say dove, I mean I climbed over an entire row of seats like a raccoon in a vending machine, all elbows and questionable decisions, just to intercept September before she vanished into the day.

  “September!” I called.

  She stopped and turned, her expression hovering between amused and mildly alarmed. “I would’ve heard you if you whispered,” she said.

  I nodded, breathless. “Yeah, too loud. My bad. I—uh—wanted to propose something.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Flowers?”

  I froze. For a terrifying second, I thought she had somehow heard the monologue in my head and was calling my bluff with a bouquet. Then she added, “Because I need some more for the garden my grandmother is starting. Or… already started.”

  The knot in my chest loosened. “Not flowers,” I said, still catching my breath. “A mission.”

  Her brows rose. “When did you join one?”

  “We’re planning to,” I said quickly. “Me, Nikki, and Tisiah. For MP. I know you like MP.”

  We stepped into the hallway’s current. Students flowed past us, a moving river of backpacks and chatter. She veered left. Parting was upon us, but she paused, gifts me that leftover second of attention that feels, irrationally, like a miracle.

  “Yeah… here’s the thing,” she said gently. “I’m already about to do a mission with another friend. She had a spot open for me, and I took it.”

  My heart didn’t just drop—it sank to the bottom of the ocean and met a sad-looking crab. “Oh,” I said. “Okay. That’s perfectly fine.” (It was not perfectly fine.) She patted my shoulder like someone steadying a table and said, “Don’t feel like you can’t come to me, though. I’m usually open. Not always, but—yeah.”

  “Yeah, for sure,” I said, nodding too much. “For sure.”

  She tapped my shoulder, a three-note rhythm that felt like a soft goodbye, and walked away.

  “Shoot,” I muttered. Malachi. How does he do it? He foils plans he doesn’t even know exist. He’s four steps ahead in a game he hasn’t learned the rules to.

  Plan B assembled itself, wobbly and desperate.

  “Nice job,” a voice said behind me, low and amused. “You definitely did something there.”

  I didn’t need to turn to know. Still, I did. Malachi leaned in the corridor’s shade like he’d grown there. “Did a lot,” he added with a chuckle.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Nothing… for the most part.” He shrugged. “They always say dream big, but I think you aimed a little past the sun. September? Of all people?”

  “Is there a problem with that?” I said. My voice came out steady, which counts as a miracle.

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  He glanced at my shoes, then my jacket—the full, withering inventory. “I’ll be honest?” His gaze lifted and sharpened. “Yes. I have a big problem. You’re competing against me.”

  I smiled without humor. Called it. “Competing in what,” I asked, “—style?”

  He gave my outfit a single, cruel scan that landed like a D-minus. “If you even have style to begin with.” He stepped closer. “You don’t have the clout to pull someone like her, and I’m not saying that to be mean.”

  “Really?”

  “No. I’m being honest.” He put a hand on my shoulder—light, patronizing. “What’ll hurt more than me is when she inevitably says no. If not because of me, then because of her. Don’t put her in that spot. Don’t make her carry that.”

  I was two seconds away from punting his ankle into the next life if he didn’t remove his discount–James Bond hand from my person. Blessedly, he lifted it and walked off, the crowd swallowing him whole. I stood there inside a small, boiling bubble, pressure building.

  Fine. New plan. I would get that mission approved. I would.

  The next class was upstairs. I took the steps two at a time, lungs burning, the plan coalescing into a checklist I could live with: finish this class, meet Principal Renner, pitch the mission, collect the approvals, and then—profit. The details could come later. Details are future-me’s problem.

  When I slipped through the door, Nikki and Tisiah were already there, heads bowed together in that posture of long-suffering friendship that says we were absolutely gossiping about you. The room was all oiled wood and quiet shadow, a glossy brown sheen on the paneling, with a bright black chandelier throwing light like a net.

  I didn’t need to guess what Tisiah was talking about. It had been thirty minutes since the last time I humiliated myself. The statute of limitations on retelling had not expired.

  Nikki clocked me first. Concern and exasperation wrestled on her face; neither won. “I’ll be honest, Connor,” she said. “I kind of hope September decides not to come. It’s concerning that you’re doing all—”

  “She can’t join,” I cut in.

  Tisiah blinked, fast and wide. “What for?”

  “She’s already on an assignment with ‘some friend,’” I said, my voice souring on the phrase. “A.K.A. Malachi.”

  Nikki tilted her head. “She said ‘some friend’?”

  “Her exact words: ‘She had a spot open for me and I took it.’”

  They both just… stared at me. Identical narrow-eyed looks, like I’d said something so colossally dumb their nervous systems needed to reboot.

  “What?” I asked.

  “She,” Nikki said carefully.

  I stared back. “She who?”

  Nikki pinched the bridge of her nose. “You quoted September saying she had a spot open. If Malachi were the friend, it wouldn’t be she. Also, if Malachi had been tricking everyone with pronouns, that would’ve been school-wide news by now.”

  Right. Grammar. The oldest enemy.

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m dumb.”

  “Not dumb,” she said. “Just… invested.”

  “Either way,” I pushed on, “she’s not joining. Which means this is our window. We rack MP, we climb levels, the wands unlock new features—boom, new ceiling.”

  “We heard the speech,” Nikki said dryly.

  “Right. But you want that, yeah?” I asked. “More range. More control.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Our ambitions are different, though.” She glanced at me pointedly. “Yours especially.”

  “Go figure. But you’re in?”

  “What kind of question is that?” she said. “You expect me to wait for a test to farm MP like the rest of the cowards?”

  “Well… some might,” I shrugged.

  “Not me.”

  Tisiah glanced between us and nodded, though at what, I couldn’t tell. “Yeah, yeah… I agree—with both of you,” he said, confidence crumbling mid-sentence. It sounded like his words tripped and scraped their knees on the way out.

  “Anyway—” I began, but the room’s air sharpened.

  “Form up!” Sensei Waine’s voice cracked across the wood like a whip. The entire class rose as one, sliding into row formation with the reflex of people who have recently learned the hard way that she does not repeat herself.

  “Glad you finally learned after a month,” she murmured, more amused than impressed, as she paced to the front. Her steps made soft percussion against the floor. “As everyone should have heard, the MP system starts tomorrow. That means instead of merely learning how to acquire new powers, we will focus on how to use what you have—efficiently.”

  A low ripple of murmurs moved through the room. The chandelier’s crystals trembled faintly with the hum.

  “Each unit this term,” Sensei Waine continued, “is mapped to a level bracket. The wands have been provisioned, for now, with unlocks from one to fifty.”

  I heard Nikki exhale. “Fifty,” she whispered, equal parts impressed and unimpressed.

  “Fifty?” Tisiah echoed under his breath. “Can we go that high?”

  Nikki shrugged, then lifted her hands in surrender as both of us gave her the look. “Alright, chill,” she said. “I didn’t know it was such a big number.”

  “Depends on context,” Tisiah muttered. “In this context? It’s Everest.”

  “Ahem.” Sensei Waine’s throat-clear was a gavel. Our side chatter died on impact. Her gaze flicked across us—counting, measuring, sorting. It landed on me for a single atom of a second, and I felt abruptly upright and very mortal.

  “Let’s begin,” she said, smile taut as a bowstring. “Level-one mastery. Fundamentals, pressure, control.”

  We broke formation into pairs. Mats slid. The room smelled faintly of polish and ozone, the heavy promise of power. As we moved, Nikki leaned in. “So. This mission. Are we talking reconnaissance, retrieval, or ruckus?”

  “Light infiltrate,” I whispered. “In-and-out. Cameras are Tisiah’s realm. I’ll run interference. You—”

  “—make sure you don’t emotionally implode if September breathes in your direction,” she finished. “Got it.”

  “Rude,” I said. “Accurate, but rude.”