“What does that mean?”
“Just look at you. The whole sorry state of you.”
Unfortunately, Quin had a point: She’d barely slept. She’d combed the internet all over again, reading everydubious article on peri magic she could find—hoping,hopingshe’d missed something. At this point, she’d take another hate comment on the message board. At least it would meansomeonewas listening.
After Coach Reese finished counting off all thirty seniors and blew his whistle, the gym erupted into chaos. The air reeked of fear and sweat, the overhead lights buzzing faintly against the echo of sneakers squeaking on polished wood. Red rubber balls ricocheted off the floor as students yelped.
Riya couldn’t get her head in it. Every second wasted felt like the curse rooting deeper.
There had to besomethingshe hadn’t tried yet. Some new angle. Some other way to—
“Look alive, VP!”
A red blur. She ducked just in time.
She adjusted her glasses and found Quin across the court, grinning. Tossing ball and plucking another from the air like nothing.
A slow, creeping irritation unfurled in her chest.
Her fingers still ached from last night’s scrolling, typing, searching—every rabbit hole that had led to nothing. She did not need Quin’s needling on top of everything, especially from someone who treated student government like an afterthought and still got credit.
Another throw from Quin skimmed Riya’s cheekbone—a rush of rubber and air—and smacked the wall hard enough to leave a dusty crescent.
“Headshots are illegal,” she called.
Coach Reese looked up.“Quin.”
Quin only tipped their chin. A challenge. Adare.
Riya’s lip twitched.
Fine. If Quin wanted to help her blow off steam?
She’d blow off steam.
Riya tightened her grip, planted her feet, and hurled the ball straight at them.
Quin dodged it, allowing it to hit a teammate behind them. Their smirk sharpened, which only irked her more.
The air in the gym shifted, like a blanket had been ripped off. “Damn!”someone yelled.“Someone pissed off Riya!”
Another throw. Quin sidestepping smoothly, unbothered that their teammates were dropping like flies.
Riya settled into a rhythm: one dodge, one block, one clean tag. Each movement sent a satisfying jolt through her limbs. Sweat gathered under her collar and a strand of hair stuck to her mouth. She spat it away and threw again.
She’d lost control of so many things lately. But the angle of the ball, the speed—this, at least, she could control.
One by one, other students got knocked out.
“Help, our VP has gone feral!”
“Michael’sknocked out! I didn’t even see it happen!”
“It’s a massacre!”
Some distant, rational part of Riya warned her that this was getting out of hand. That she needed to pull back. But as much as she tried to maintain her composure, to listen to the voice in her head, the world kept tilting, just slightly off-center.
Another ball blurred toward her face.
