I stare at her. Then at the table arrangement. Then at Garrett, who’s practically sitting in the fire pit’s lap, preening like a peacock.
“You’re joking.”
“Welcome to Blaze Academy.” Felix grins. “Where even mealtime is a power play.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, although isn’t it the same as high school cafeterias? Popular kids in the middle, outcasts at the edges.
Witches and humans apparently aren’t so different, after all.
But instead of making a big deal about it, I reach for the breadbasket making its way down the table, needing to eat something to calm my nerves after that disaster of a sigil ceremony. At least the food hierarchy hasn’t reached the carbs. Yet.
The older years start filing in, and the energy in the room shifts. Second-years walk with newfound confidence. Third-years strut like they own the place.
Then the fourth-years...
Logan enters like a looming storm cloud—sharp, quiet, and inevitable. He doesn’t even glance at the seating arrangement before claiming what’s clearly the best spot at the fourth-year table, right next to the fire. People shift to give him more space, not just out of respect, but something more instinctive. The way you’d edge away from a barely sheathed blade.
My heart jumps into my throat, because I can still feel the purple fire from earlier, curling between us like a spilled secret.
Felix follows my gaze and waggles his eyebrows. “Everyone’s talking about how he saved you during the Hydra trial when the wards broke. Must have been terrifying, having him swoop in like?—“
“Can we not?” My fingers tingle with that familiar electric sensation, and I clench them under the table.
“Touchy subject?” Felix tilts his head. “Or touchy because of those purple flames when you were inside the fire together during the sigil ceremony?”
Before I can respond—or electrify the table—a girl with sleek, copper-blonde hair approaches our little corner of social exile with an unmistakably smug look on her aristocratic features.
“Well, well.” Her voice drips like honey over poison. “The famous Jade Harrington.”
I sit back in my seat, knowing better than to let this girl think she has anything over me. “And you are…?”
“Callie Bennett.” She doesn’t offer her hand. “I had to meet the clueless witch who needed Logan Ashford to save her from the Hydra for myself.”
My spine straightens.
Here we go.
“How, exactly, does someone from a dead bloodline get invited to Blaze?” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a particularly fascinating bug. “The Harringtons haven’t produced real magic in, what, five generations?”
“So I’ve heard.” My palm buzzes with energy, the bread in my hand burning and crumbling into black ash onto my bread plate as my grip tightens.
“I suppose that explains why you struggled so much during the trial.” Her smile could freeze fire. “No one’s ever had to intervene before.”
Felix glances at my bread plate and faces Callie. “Didn’t you hear?—”
“Shouldn’t you be juggling something, circus trash?” Callie doesn’t even glance at him.
His cheeks flush, and the chandeliers flare brighter.
“But the truly embarrassing part?” Callie leans closer to me, her flowery perfume almost making me choke. “Broadcasting your little crush to everyone during the sigil ceremony.” She straightens, smoothing her skirt, and sparks snap at my knuckles under the table.
The chandelier overhead flickers like it’s about to come crashing down.
“You know he was just doing his job by helping you, right?” she continues, unaware that she’s seconds away from having her perfect hair fried to a crisp. Because the power is building and building, and I’m clenching my fists under the table to contain it, but the longer Callie goes on, the more the sparks are threatening to push through. “Although I’m sure for someone like you, any attention from him must feel?—”
“First-years.” Logan’s suddenly standing next to Callie at the end of the table, his voice slicing through her words, surprising me so much that the sparks in my hands die instantly. “Your class schedules are posted by the door. Including your combat assessments with Professor Cross that will happen first thing tomorrow morning.”
A collective groan rises from my classmates.
