Sunlight poured through the tall windows of Elkington Academy's main hall, far too bright for those who had gone a little too far at last night's feast.

  Ermin had hoped for a warm, orderly welcome for the Pines. What he got was a kitchenware drumline in the dining hall and a campus-wide pillow fight that ended in the common room.

  Sigh. There goes the pillow budget.

  I really shouldn't have expected these monkeys to behave.

  So this morning, the Pine Hollow bench was lined with students in crisp uniforms and ruinous eye bags, a few still dusted in feathers—Francis included.

  "Didn't know you joined the pillow fight," Reid said, plucking feathers from his already tangled hair.

  "I marched in to drag Trey out," he replied.

  "And you smacked me—with your hand— really hard," Trey added.

  "You're welcome."

  The hall buzzed with low chatter. House banners hung from the high rafters: Lavender Vales, Oak Crest, Birch Haven, Maple Glade, Willow Shade, Elm Ridge, Cedar Grove

  and of course Pine Hollow.

  Luna sat between Trey and Francis, wearing a white shirt beneath a deep teal vest and jacket, a skirt to the knee, black shoes and half-calf socks. A P.H. pin on her chest bore her house initials in deep green crossed with silver. She fidgeted with it, anxious.

  "How many times do the Oaks polish their shoes to get that mirror shine?" Trey nodded at the neat rows across the hall.

  "Trey," Francis warned.

  "Drop a marble and they'll all faceplant."

  Luna giggled—then the hall quieted as Headmaster Garrett stepped up to the podium. His black robes trimmed in gold caught the morning light. Behind him stretched the long staff table, with faculty and school officers seated along the walls.

  Garrett lifted a hand. His low voice carried.

  "Welcome, all of you—old and new—into a place of honor, learning, and..."

  He spoke of the school's founding and other things Luna had already half heard, until he reached the part that had kept her awake, heart thrumming with nerves.

  "Twenty-four students have passed their trials, moved into their new houses, and will receive a Veinguard today."

  A whispering murmur rose as five black figures filed in.

  The Elderwatch.

  Head to toe in black, hoods low, their cloaks swept as they walked with poised, intimidating grace. When the five stopped in a row behind Garrett, the hall turned so silent it could have been empty.

  "Now," Garrett said, gesturing to the students, "step forward for your Veinguard."

  The twenty-four advanced to stand before the Elderwatch officers, each holding a small glass vial. Their motions were swift, precise.

  Luna's heart hammered as her turn came. She sat before them, staring at those black gloves. One officer unstoppered a vial of inky liquid—inside it drifted something like a thread, white and faintly luminous.

  She held her breath as he poured a measure into his palm, set his other hand to angle her head, and pressed the liquid to the vein at the right side of her neck. A prickle—like many tiny needles—pricked the spot. Not pain, just tingling— irritating. Then a gentle warmth flowed through her whole body, down to her fingertips—and vanished.

  The man released her without a word, only inclined his head to send her back to her seat.

  "See? Didn't die," Trey whispered as she sat. Francis reached from behind and smacked him on the back of his head.

  When all were done, the Elderwatch departed as quietly as they'd come.

  "Do they ever speak?" Trey muttered. "When I graduate, I'm not applying, for sure."

  "As if they'd take you," Reid said, still eyeing the door.

  "Doesn't matter. I already hold the post of Francis's doctor's apprentice."

  "You—are not—a—"

  "With the Veinguards complete, you now have a warm house and a system that keeps you safe. Study well, live well, and may Elkington Academy—this place—remain strong, united, and guard this secret forever," Garrett concluded.

  He waved them off. Chairs scraped, voices rose—some buzzing about the Veinguard, others giddy for the term.

  As Luna and her friends walked out through the arch, a tall professor in a dark brown cloak with the O.C. pin strode up to Ermin, who was adjusting some of the Pines's cloaks. His voice was pitched just a bit too high as he spoke.

  "Well, well. Pine Hollow's got two this year. Ermin's daycare must be lively. What bait did you use this time?"

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The Oak Crest kids, clustered behind him, burst into delighted laughter. Luna recognized one of them— the boy who'd accidentally spilled water on her fire yesterday.

  "Exactly," Trey said, mouth crooked in a grin he'd clearly been saving for this very moment, eyes alight. "We get two extra hours of naptime now. Jealous much?"

  This time Pines howled. Even Ermin smiled, helpless.

  Ermin's daycare? As if that stung. He invented the term himself, constantly using it on bad days. Blast it—kids from Lavender Vales were easier than these barnacles and crabs.

  And as if Lancaster would ever get two hours' nap. Hah! Keep dreaming.

  "Every house here is a daycare, Aldric," Ermin said mildly. "You'd know that if you actually read your job description."

  He leaned just enough on the word read to draw a chorus of "Oooooohs" from the Pines. Color climbed Aldric's face. Seeing he had nothing else to say, Ermin squared his shoulders and swept out, deep green cloak flaring.

  Trey's right hand pressed lightly to Luna's back as the students fanned down the corridors.

  "So—first period's History, right? Mind numbing. I'll walk you so you don't get lost. No sleeping. And do not explode any classrooms."

  "I wasn't going to," Luna muttered, but fell into step with him anyway.

  Morning classes flew by for Luna. She learned terms and systems she'd never heard before in her life. History was a graveyard of names and dates she would never remember. Applied Quanta, at least, came with demonstrations— enough to stave off boredom. Luna scribbled with manic dedication—understanding, perhaps, half of what she wrote.

  But what discouraged her wasn't confusion. It was that most of her classmates were from...

  Lavender Vales.

  Yes. She'd been assigned to the same classes as the little ones still in the simplest uniforms—no belt, their house initials stitched rather than pinned, and not a single button on their shirts.

  She looked down at her own uniform again, as if to remind herself she was too old for this level—and yet the little ones learned so much faster.

  Demoralizing? Oh, very.

  'Don't push yourself too hard. Remember—you're very new to this world.'

  Ermin's voice surfaced in her head; he often said that when he trained her, always followed by Trey's commentary.

  'Yeah, don't overthink it. Remember Professor Ermin's lesson on Quanta?'

  'I do.'

  'Great! Because all of us forgot it already. She's a keeper, Prof.'

  Luna nearly laughed out loud, catching herself with a hand over her mouth. It was nice that she remembered Ermin's words... but why did Trey's ridiculous add-on have to tag along? The idiot was getting far too chatty.

  She shook it off and kept writing, feeling a little better.

  The cafeteria was calmer at snack break than at breakfast, but Luna spotted her friends clustered at a table next to the long window. Trey waved so theatrically she nearly spun on her heel and fled.

  "Yo."

  Blake set down a tray piled high with breads just as she reached them. Beside him sat another housemate she recalled, Finian.

  "You should eat something, Luna," Francis said, side-eyeing the mountain of pastries before fixing the look on her. Blake promptly handed her a blueberry danish—then knocked Trey's thieving hand away.

  "You have legs. Use them."

  "Double standards," Trey grumbled.

  "Yes. The Lancaster Exception," Blake said.

  Luna bit in the buttery pastry, sweet-tart fruit bursting on her tongue—pure sunshine.

  "How were classes?" Reid asked softly, reading with one hand, teacup in the other.

  "I didn't understand a thing."

  Reid choked.

  "Luna, I told you not to become Trey," Francis warned.

  "Hey!"

  "History is boring. And Applied Quanta didn't match what Professor Ermin said at all. They kept going on about some 'medium' thing."

  The whole table went, "Ahhh."

  "Mediums," Reid said, closing her book and giving Luna her full attention. "are what Quanta flows through to make it stronger— denser. Think of Quanta as current, the medium is the channel that amplifies it. Your intention and projection decide what form it will take."

  "I still don't get it. Why can't we just use raw Quanta?"

  "Because raw Quanta is too thin to hold shape." She leaned forward slightly. "It's like trying to punch with smoke—it scatters. A medium focuses it, makes it solid enough to control."

  "How can it be thin? I just used it to light a fire!"

  Trey squeezed her shoulder, gently, as if consoling her.

  "Trust me. That counts as weak."

  Luna froze in disbelief.

  "I hate to say it, but Trey's right," Reid sighed. "Everyone can channel through common materials—water, air, wood, fire—like Ermin taught. But the output stays faint."

  She slid her cup across the table with a flick of Quanta.

  "The point is, that's the limit. You can move a cup—maybe a chair—but you can't win a fight that way."

  She snapped her fingers toward Luna.

  "Ow!"

  Luna flinched, rubbing her shoulder where it felt like a marble had struck her.

  "Like that."

  "You call that thin?!"

  "Went full force, didn't you?" Trey said, smirking.

  "Yours is just weak. Train harder," she shot back at Trey, then turned to Luna. "And yes, that was gentle. Once you find a medium that matches you, the current thickens— enough to use as a weapon."

  "What do you mean matches me?" Luna asked, baffled.

  "Everyone's Quanta resonates differently," Reid said. "The right medium feels natural—like breathing. Hard to explain, but you'll feel it"

  "I use metal. Kinda boring, but reliable," Trey said, propping his chin on his hand.

  "Boring?" Blake mumbled around a mouthful of bread.

  "He uses metal too. See? Boring." Trey pointed a teaspoon at Blake. "Metal's the universal one. Anyone can weaponize Quanta through it, if they haven't found their specific medium yet."

  "You haven't found yours?"

  Unbelievable.

  "Believe me, I tried. But I'm great with metal anyway," Trey said, grinning, as if he could read her mind.

  "And what do you mean by specifics?" Luna pressed.

  "In that case, ask the redhead." Trey replied.

  Right on cue, Reid twitched two fingers. A bead of flame winked into being above her palm—then vanished. Luna's eyes went wide.

  "How did you do that?"

  "Fire's my medium. I used to have to spark it—but now..." She slipped off a big black ring and showed it. "Bridget crafted me a ring with an igniter. Cool, right?"

  "The coolest," Luna said, practically bouncing. "What about you, Francis? Do you have one too?"

  "Organic matter. Plants, herbs," he said evenly. "Completely useless in a fight, but powerful for healing."

  "Healing's never useless in a fight," Blake countered.

  "Agreed," Finian said, jerking a thumb toward Blake. "This bull would've died a few hundred times without you."

  Shockingly, Blake nodded— no protest at being called a bull.

  "Don't forget to thank the doctor's apprentice, because—"

  "Shut up, Lancaster!"

  This time Luna squeezed Trey's shoulder in sympathy.

  "So how do I figure out my medium?" She asked, fired up by the lesson.

  How nice it would be if mine were fire like Reid's.

  "Drop by Ermin's when you've got time. The old man's got a stash of medium samples. And bring him too." He pointed at Francis. "He can see which one makes you shine brightest."

  "I'm not anyone's equipment."

  "But will you help or not?" Trey arched a brow. Francis stared him down until Trey rolled his eyes.

  "Fine, fine. What's the price this time? I stay quiet? I call you Lord Creek? I stop swapping your medicine bottles?"

  "You swapped—what?"

  Trey froze a heartbeat, innocent as a cat.

  "Did not."

  Now Francis's face went from pale to volcanic.

  "That's it! If you want my help, you stop touching my bottles!"

  "In that case," Trey said, turning to Luna, all humor gone for once, "you're on your own, Luna. Find your medium yourself."