The dining hall. He was sitting right there. Shuffled once, then stopped, and watched me walk up to the empty trays.
I also notice the little leather journal he keeps in the inside pocket of his purple blazer. Every time something goes wrong—every spill, every fall, every mysteriously empty serving tray—he takes it out. Scribbles something. Puts it back. Quick and casual, like he's jotting down a grocery list.
I used to think it was a diary. Or a sketchbook. Or just a chaos mage being eccentric.
Now I'm not so sure.
The number of accidents or mishaps I’ve been going through the past few days defies the odds. Felix is within earshot for every single one, and his cards are moving before each and every disaster.
Chaos magic, also called probability manipulation, or in layman’s terms, stacking the deck and fixing the odds. A gambler’s idea of paradise.
My nightmare.
I find him in the library on a Tuesday night, anger and confusion rushing through me, a bitter taste like bile in my mouth.
He's sitting in one of the alcoves on the second floor, feet propped on the table, cards spread out in front of him like he’s look at the future. Or maybe creating the future—at this point, I’m starting to realize just how little I actually know. He looks up when I approach and smiles like I'm exactly who he was hoping to see.
"Hey. Pull up a—"
"The coffee." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "My laptop. The dining hall. The bookshelf." I'm shaking, but I don't look away. "You shuffle right before things go wrong. Every time. You think I wouldn't notice?"
The smile slides off his face. Not all at once—in stages, like he's deciding how much of the mask to drop.
"Everly—"
"You've been fucking with probability. Stacking the deck—literally—against me and then sitting there eating my fries while I dealt with the fallout." My voice cracks and I hate it, hate him for making it crack. "You made melaugh.You asked about myfamily.And the whole time, you were—what? Fucking with me just for the hell of it?"
He doesn't deny it. That's the worst part. He doesn't even try.
"I wanted to see what you'd do," he says quietly. The charm is gone. What's underneath is sharper, almost careful. "When everything went wrong. Whether you'd crumble or adapt."
"And? What's yourverdict?"
His cards have gone still. First time I've ever seen that.
"You're still here," he says, like it means something. "Most people would have crumbled. Transferred. Crawled to a fraternity begging for protection. You just keep getting back up." He looks at me, really looks, and there's something in his green eyes I can't name. "You get knocked down and you keepgoing, and I—"
He stops himself.
"Anyway. I got what I needed."
"Great." The word tastes like ash. "Happy to be your fucking science project."
"That's not—"
"Three presidents." I back away from the table. "Three different flavors of cruelty. Callum threatens me in a hallway. Atlas tries to fry me with lightning. And you—youpretend to be my friendso you could study how much I could take before I broke."
His jaw tightens. "I wasn't pretending—"
"Weren't you?"
He opens his mouth. Closes it. For the first time since I've met him, Felix Ferrix doesn't have anything to say.
"You got what you wanted. Whatever sick reaction you’ve been looking for, whoever you’re reporting to—Callum or Atlas or someone I don’t know because Ijust got here, and as we established, I have no idea what’s going on.” The injustice of it is a lump of pain in my throat. “So from now on, just stay away from me."
I turn before the tears can fall. Walk out with my spine straight, my chin up, because that's what I do.
I make it all the way back to Bellamy Hall before I fall apart.
