“Human.”
I grit my teeth and shove the door open. I’m going to lose my shit if they keep gossiping like junior high kids.
Runic Arts looks nothing like the arena.
The room is warm, softly lit by hovering globes that pulse faintly with light. Long stone tables stretch in rows. Shelves packed with rune-etched stones, vellum scrolls, jars of powdered herbs and crystal line the walls. The air smells faintly of old parchment and something metallic.
I let out a slow breath.
Okay. This, at least, feels less like a fight waiting to happen. I pick an empty seat near the middle. Not too close to the front. Not too far back. Safe zone.
A few other students file in, still whispering. I catch another sideways glance, another murmur I can’t quite make out.
Whatever. Let them talk.
I’m dropping my bag onto the table when someone falls into the seat next to me. Literally topples into it. There’s a clatter, a muttered curse, and a flash of papers as the guy tries to untangle himself from his own bag strap.
I blink.
He’s tall and lean, tousled brown hair falling into his face. Glasses slightly crooked, with deep chocolate eyes behind them. And a fine dusting of day old scruff along his jawline. A worn notebook clutched in one hand. He glances over, cheeks flushing pink.
“Hi. Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m, uh—hi.”
The words tumble out too fast.
I blink again, then feel a laugh slip out before I can stop it. The guy straightens, pushing his glasses up with one finger, looking flustered but determined.
“I’m Nolan,” he says, this time slower. “Nolan Porter. Just Nolan is fine. You’re…Lindsay, right?”
I nod, still fighting a smile. “Yeah.”
He lets out a breath like he just passed a test.
“Good. I, uh, heard about Combat Casting. Not in a creepy way! Just—word gets around. Fast.”
His ears are turning pink now. For the first time all morning, some of the tension in my chest loosens.
“Well,” I say, grinning, “it’s been a hell of a first day.”
Nolan laughs, the sound a little too loud, a little too relieved. But genuine.
“Yeah,” he says. “Welcome to Blackthorn. Where the monsters don’t play nice.”
Nolan shoves a few scrolls and a battered notebook onto the table, still pink in the ears. He fumbles with his quill, dropsit, catches it mid-fall, then immediately knocks over an ink pot already sitting on the table.
I catch it before it tips fully.
“Whoa.” I grin, handing it back. “You okay there?”
He laughs, pushing his glasses up again. “I’m fine. Just… first day. Nerves.”
I arch a brow. “You look like you’ve been here longer than me.”
“I have,” he admits sheepishly. “Second year. Doesn’t mean the nerves go away.”
That earns a small, genuine smile from me.
“You’re not like the others,” I say before I can think better of it.
