Auron Draven.
Blocking my way out. Pale hair gleaming, silver cloak falling perfectly over broad shoulders. His eyes glitter like frost on a cold day. He could be Draco Malfoy’s colder, evilier twin.
“Didn’t think you’d last a full class,” he drawls quietly, dipping his head close. “But don’t get comfortable. This place eats things like you.”
He snaps his teeth at me like he’s going to bite me, and I hold myself still. My pulse spikes. I square my shoulders, but my mouth is too dry to answer. Auron’s gaze flicks down to my brown cloak, a smirk curling his mouth.
“No House. No blood. No worth.” He leans in just a fraction. “Run home while you still can.”
The words fill me like ice in my chest. Before I can fire back, before I can even think, a swirl of movement cuts between us.
Tamsin.
She hooks her arm through mine, eyes bright and perceptive.
“Oops,” she says sweetly to Auron. “Didn’t see you there. Guess the human’s got better company.”
She tugs me firmly toward the door before he can answer. I glance back once. Auron’s smile is thin and cold as he watches us go. Tamsin doesn’t slow until we’re clear of the Veil Theory hall and halfway down the next corridor. Only then does she release my arm, shooting me a look.
“Rule one,” she says briskly. “Avoid Auron Draven. Especially alone.”
I exhale shakily. “Yeah. Got that memo.”
“He’s worse than he looks,” she adds. “And he plays a long game.”
Wonderful. Exactly what I need.
Tamsin pulls a folded slip of parchment from her sleeve and taps it, runes glow faintly across the surface.
“Schedule check,” she chirps. “Let’s see…you’ve got Combat Casting next. Then Runic Arts after—Professor Marris teaches that one. You’ll like her.”
I fumble my own crumpled schedule out of my pocket. Sure enough, Combat Casting scrawled in jagged script I can barely read.
“Combat… what now? And how did you see my schedule on…” I gesture at her paper, “...that.”
“Oh, sorry, magic, you’ll get used to it.” Tamsin grins. “As for Combat Casting, you’ll love it. Or hate it. Either way, it’s fast-paced. And after that—Runic Arts is a nice break. Less chance of getting hexed.”
She glances at the time rune near the corner of her paper.
“Okay, I’ve got Divination across the tower.” She shoulders her bag. “But we’ll meet for lunch after, yeah? You’ll need a debrief.”
I nod, heart still racing. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Tamsin flashes me a quick grin. “You’ve got this, human.”
Then she’s gone, vanishing into the crowd with a flick of her braid.
I take a breath. Then another.
Combat Casting. On my own. I can do this. Hell, I’ve been taking care of myself for years since my gran died. I square my shoulders, clutch my schedule, and start toward the next hall. I find the door by sheer luck, and the small crowd of students already gathered outside helps.
The space beyond is nothing like the lecture hall from earlier. This is clearly a training arena.
High stone walls circle a wide open floor, runes etched deep into the stone, there are practice dummies in some of the smaller circles. Tiered seating lines the edges. Floating lanterns burn with steady, unnatural light. The air hums with raw magic. My pulse kicks harder the second I step inside.
A tall figure waits at the center of the arena—broad-shouldered, dark-cloaked, sharp gaze sweeping the room. He must be Professor Cassian River. And judging by the ripple of awareness moving through the students, he’s not the kind of professor you slack off around.
“Combat Casting,” Professor River announces, drawing the attention of every single student. “Not theory. Not study.Application.”
