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Mira darted over to her, almost stumbling on the uneven cobblestones.

“Thank the spheres you’re here,” Ella sighed with relief as Mira fell into her arms. “I was worried sick. What happened? You just…disappeared. Is everything all right?”

Mira couldn’t say it, so instead she lifted her right hand just a smidge. Ella sucked in a breath as she stared at the ink on Mira’s hand.

“This is just a nightmare, right?” Mira’s voice trembled. “I hit my head pretty hard back there. Probably knocked me out. I’m about to wake up in Ivercrest’s infirmary and you’ll tell me this was all a bad dream.”

It seemed more plausible than having a Shadowflame. Anything seemed more plausible than that.

Mira hid her hand in her pocket, but Ella’s mouth remained slack. It wasn’t often that her friend was speechless. In fact, Mira could think of only two times when she’d seen her stumped for words. One of those moments was when Ella’s brother died after a group of Wielders raided the potion lab he worked at.

“Can you talk to Highmage Tinley?” Mira asked frantically. “Convince her I belong in White Magic?”

“Of course. We’ll get it sorted,” she said, but didn’t sound convincing.

Mira knew what Ella was thinking: Once magic made its choice, there was no turning back. The Shadowflame wouldn’t just disappear.

“The most important part is that you’re here.” Ella tried to be her typical uplifting self.

And yet—this, too, felt like a punishment. A continuation of her magic purgatory.

“Regardless of which department you’re in,” Ella continued, “being part of Ivercrest is a huge accomplishment.”

But it wasn’t about the diploma for Mira. Ella knew about her scar, of course, but after a few years of pain and nightmares, she didn’t seem to understand why Mira didn’t get better. Everyone else wounded in the war had, but as the others regained their former selves, Mira didn’t.

Since the war, Mira shared less and less about her scar and its complications with Ella because she wanted to be better and complaining about debilitating nightmares and stabbing pain didn’t seem to accomplish that. If Ella knew why Mira was at Ivercrest, she’d tell her what every healer before her had: that there was nothing that could fix her scar.

Some part of Mira feared that if she spoke about her plan aloud, that hope, too, would die.

“I feel like I messed up the test,” Mira stammered. “I…I probably did something wrong.”

“It was nothing you did. We will figure out a way. You are a Caster. We all know that.”

Perhaps her magic was so rotten Ivercrest could no longer recognize it as White Magic.

Ella fished a velvet pouch out of her pocket. “Here,” she said, grabbing Mira’s left hand and dumping an impressive collection of crystals into her palm. “Did you even bring crystals?”

“Yes, some.”

Casters used crystals to enhance spells. Mira’s old crystals were somewhere in her rucksack. She wasn’t even sure they still worked.

“Have you cast a protective spell yet?” Ella asked.

“No…I don’t think—”

Her friend lifted her palm, and the collection of crystals lit up. A calmness washed over Mira.

“Ella, I really don’t think that—”

“You’re right. Maybe a cleansing spell?”

Mira shook her head and stuffed the crystals in her pocket. “I don’t think anything we are able to do can fix this.”

A cleansing spell wasn’t going to rid her of the dark ink that tied her to the wrong institute.

Today was supposed to have made Mira feel like she was on the right path. Back to her old self. Reunited with Ella. But with the Shadowflame on her hand, she never felt more separated from her.

“I know what will lift your mood.” Ella’s face lit up, making her green eyes shine like emeralds. “I overheard some students talking about going to the Catacombs. There will be music and alcohol.”