Thursday, April 20th

  Location: Sensei Waine’s Class

  Time: No clock in the room

  The worksheet sat in front of me, a maze of questions about elemental control and tactical theory. My pen hovered uselessly above the paper. I wasn’t working; I was just staring at words that blurred into nothing. My brain wasn’t in the room—it was still tangled around Mari’s voice.

  Amateur agent.

  Two words, yet they echoed louder than any spell I’d ever heard. They didn’t just linger in my head; they wrapped around me, pressed against my ears as if Mari herself was right behind me, whispering with venom meant only for me. Greg had explained the literal meaning yesterday—freshmen spies are amateurs until they hit sophomore year and take Predicament classes. But Mari hadn’t meant it as a technical term. She’d spat it like a weapon. It wasn’t factual. It was insulting.

  And it worked.

  A tap on my shoulder broke the cycle. I turned, half-expecting Mari’s face, but instead found Nikki’s. She was staring at me with this strangely concerned look, like she actually cared. Which only confused me more.

  “You good?” she asked.

  “Yeah…”

  “So, no,” she concluded instantly.

  I let out a reluctant nod. Somehow, she saw through me too easily. Maybe that predictability should’ve embarrassed me, but honestly, if it meant someone understood, I’d take it.

  “What’s the deal?” Tisiah asked suddenly, leaning over from the other side. His voice was louder than it should’ve been. I whipped my head toward him and shot him a glare so sharp he instinctively leaned back.

  “Sorry…” he muttered.

  “No, no, you’re fine. It’s just—I’m not sure—” I started, but before I could finish, the air in the room changed.

  Sensei Waine spoke.

  Her voice carried a chill that froze every spine in the classroom. Every student straightened in their seat as if the sound itself had tightened their muscles.

  “Thank you,” she said, her tone clipped and cold. “If you haven’t checked your wands yet—which I’m sure many of you have neglected—you may, in fact, do it now.”

  Relief washed over me. A few others had also forgotten, which meant I wasn’t alone in my negligence. I pulled out my wand, its sleek black frame glowing faintly, and Nikki and Tisiah immediately crowded closer, peering at the screen like hawks.

  A bright blue bar glowed across it. Level one, filled completely. Level two, nearly halfway charged.

  “Congrats,” the wand chimed in its artificial, too-cheerful voice. “Choose one of the cards.”

  Three cards appeared above the wand, floating like holograms from some retro arcade game. They bounced gently, as if resting on invisible water.

  I went for the middle one. The middle one always had your back. The left and right cards were liars, only there to tempt you into bad luck. And me? I didn’t need more bad luck. Mine had already been juiced up with steroids this week.

  The cards spun faster and faster, until finally they snapped into clarity.

  “Mallet?” I muttered, staring at the glowing image. “What the—”

  Nikki snorted. Tisiah gasped.

  I blinked at the other two cards as they revealed themselves: minigun and flamethrower. My jaw nearly hit the desk. How was I stuck with a mallet when the universe dangled those in front of me?

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  Disgust didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Tisiah rested his chin on my shoulder. “If it helps, I got a spear,” he said sympathetically. “Besides, all you gotta do is level up and switch it out.”

  “You know what? For once, Tisiah’s right,” Nikki said. “You’re nearly at level two already. Just grind a bit more.”

  Before I could cling to that sliver of hope, a deliberate throat-clear sliced through the air.

  Sensei Waine stood a few feet away, arms folded. “If you children bothered to listen in my class, you’d know that weapon switching only happens at certain MP milestones. Until then, you adapt. To every weapon.”

  My stomach dropped. “So… I don’t get to choose?”

  “No,” she replied. Her stare burned into me. “Adapt.”

  I glared back, heat rising behind my face, but words died in my throat. Waine gave a subtle nod, then swept away with her usual urgency.

  I wanted to scream. Instead, I muttered internally: My own father wants me to suffer. Great day.

  “Okay, now you’re mostly screwed,” Nikki said cheerfully.

  “Mostly,” Tisiah added.

  “Look on the bright side,” he continued. “You’re probably high on the leaderboard. Highest levels and all.”

  “Well, if that’s true, I wouldn’t complain,” I said. “Where’s this leaderboard anyway?”

  “Usually up during Recreation,” Tisiah replied. “We can check later.”

  The worksheet dragged on. I managed to fill in maybe 25% before my brain gave up. It was all about the importance of ice—philosophy, not practice. I raised my hand to ask for the bathroom, and Waine nodded without looking up.

  Out in the hall, silence pressed against me. The academy stretched out in pale white walls and flickering lights, empty except—unfortunately—for Malachi’s goons.

  There were three of them. Two guys and one girl. Malachi himself wasn’t there, but his cronies carried the same aura of arrogance.

  One guy had spiky hair—longer than average but not quite skater length—paired with a black jacket emblazoned with Los Angeles across the back. He looked like an Ice Cube impersonator with none of the charm.

  The second guy was Black, braids sweeping dramatically to one side. He wore tan baggy pants with flames painted along the fabric and Jordan 1’s that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

  The girl had cropped white hair in a bowl cut, hoop earrings her only concession to femininity. Her skin was pale, lighter even than Nikki’s. She didn’t quite fit the group, but the way she stood with them marked her allegiance.

  I kept my head down, turned the corner—

  “Pineapple head.”

  The whisper froze me mid-step. My blood turned to ice.

  “You stopping for something?” one of them asked, their footsteps growing louder.

  It was Codename Jamal—the nickname said in half-mockery, half-pride. He stepped closer.

  I shook my head quickly. Wrong move.

  The girl squinted. “Oh, that’s Connor.”

  “The one tryna’ spit at September?” Codename Goku added, voice laced with glee.

  “Yeah,” the girl confirmed.

  They started advancing. I stepped back, palms raised. “Hey, hey, calm down. Let’s work this out.”

  “Chill out, brotha,” Jamal said. “Or there won’t be a reason to. We won’t tell Malachi you’ve been sniffing around September… if you help me out with that mocha sweetheart of yours.”

  “Mocha who?”

  “That light-skinned angel,” Jamal clarified. “We’ve been watching. You and her aren’t strangers.”

  “I’m sure no one here is a stranger to her,” I muttered.

  The girl sneered. “You probably don’t even know half the people in this academy. And I wouldn’t blame you. It’s full of useless spies.”

  “Oh dear, here we go,” Jamal groaned.

  “All we’ve got is gluttonous pigs. They’re only here for the food, flunking every class. They should be grateful for F’s,” she ranted.

  “I think F’s the worst grade, Maddie,” Goku said quietly. Maddie ignored him.

  “Anyway,” Jamal pressed, “help me get Nikki, and Malachi never hears a word about September—”

  “What was that?”

  The voice cut them off instantly.

  Malachi stood at the top of the stairs, light framing him like some twisted angel. His presence sucked the air out of the hallway.

  “Oh… Connor,” he said slowly. “Didn’t know you were skipping class.”

  “I was just—heading to the bathroom,” I stammered, scratching my neck. “No problem here.”

  “I hope not.” His eyes shifted to Jamal. “What did he do?”

  Jamal stiffened. “Nothing. Just saw him pass by.”

  Malachi tilted his head. “Where’s September?”

  “Why you asking about her?” Jamal blurted before realizing.

  Malachi’s eyes narrowed to slits. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “We kind of assumed there was,” Goku mumbled.

  “No need to assume,” Malachi said sharply. Then, after a beat, his tone shifted. “Ice cream store?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Alright,” Jamal said quickly.

  They shuffled after him. But as Malachi passed, he glanced back at me. Just one look.

  His eyes locked on mine with a knowing, dangerous glint. His lips curled into a faint smile, but it wasn’t kind. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what I was hiding.

  He knew. He just wasn’t saying it yet.

  I exhaled shakily, forcing my legs to keep me standing. At least I hadn’t embarrassed myself further by collapsing in front of him. Or worse.

  At least I didn’t make the floor wetter than usual.