The old boarding school's library smelled faintly of dust and ink, its tall windows letting in slivers of moonlight that cut across the polished wooden floor. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Reyna sat across from me, her posture sharp, her gaze unwavering. Leah lingered nearby, leaning against a shelf of worn encyclopedias, arms folded, watching everything with quiet intensity.
Reyna's voice was low but piercing.
"Intense. I think you might be a threat. Or an obstacle at least."
Her words hung in the air, colder than the draft sneaking through the cracked window. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing, as though she could peel back my thoughts with sheer focus.
"The way you've been moving around here… it doesn't add up. Tell me why you're really here."
I swallowed, the taste of iron from nerves sharp on my tongue. The wooden chair beneath me creaked as I shifted, trying to find comfort where none existed.
Leah's presence was quieter but no less unsettling. She didn't speak, but her gaze was a second interrogation, softer yet no less demanding. The faint scent of her peppermint tea clung to her sweater, oddly grounding against Reyna's intensity.
"She's thorough, isn't she?" Leah's tone was almost amused, but her eyes betrayed caution. "Commendable focus."
Reyna's fingers tapped against the table, each beat deliberate, like a judge's gavel.
"Answer me. Don't waste my time."
The air felt charged, as if the walls themselves were listening. I realized then that Reyna wasn't just testing me—she was measuring me, deciding whether I was ally or adversary.
Then it happened, in a split moment. Connor burst into that room like a hurricane of bad decisions. He barely wheezed out the words, "Mrs. Rae wants to see you-" before Leah threw a pillow dead center at his face.
I desperately fought the urge to facepalm at the absurdity of the situation - or perhaps what it had turned into.
Leah's patience snapped before mine did. Another pillow sailed across the room, thudding against Reyna's shoulder. Only then did she finally shuffle toward the door, her reluctance written in every step. I trailed after her, unwilling but bound by circumstance.
Later, I could bury my frustration in the muffled safety of a pillow scream. For now, Mrs. Rae's words echoed like a curse: she thought I wanted to hurt Reyna. Me. As if my luck wasn't already cursed enough, it had to be that bad.
But how had she discovered it? The question gnawed at me, even as fear began to shift—no longer a trembling shadow, but a rising tide of flame. It was the hush before a storm, the kind of silence that makes the air ache with anticipation.
Every flicker of warmth pressed against my skin, every ember in the world seemed to lean closer. And the sun—merciless, unrelenting—burned as though it had chosen me alone. My breath caught, half in dread, half in awe. Was this what it meant to be a fire mage? To feel the world's heat not as comfort, but as power waiting to ignite?
I stood there- only half listening to what Mrs. Rae said next. All I knew was the fire in me turning into an icy water, then boiling to a point it made me want to claw my skin out. What was this? I could barely form words but forced myself to stay normal.
I catch the black-haired boys eyes and his eyes- they're an icy blue, like water frozen in a way it couldn't melt. And I knew he was one of my few and only obstacles. I had to bring Reyna in, as quickly as possible and without them knowing- which would be near impossible now that Mrs. Rae had caught on.
I snapped out of it just in time to catch Mrs. Rae last words, ".......see to it that she's locked in the dungeon. We wouldn't want someone from the Organization hurting one of our own."
And then several hands were grabbing me, dragging me toward a secluded basement-the air was turning icy again. The dungeons were exactly what I expected-cold, damp, and rotting of rusted iron and decay. I felt somebody kick me into a cell, the farthest one they could find.
My head slammed into a iron bench as I felt warm, slick blood drip down my head, past my eyes and cheeks toward the simple white shirt I had put on earlier.