Chapter 4
The transition bell echoed through Melboria High, sending students flowing through the corridors like opposing currents of magic. Miranda followed Melissa toward the eastern wing, her thoughts still tangled in the weight of History class.
Power has a history.
She hated how much those words unsettled her.
The Potions and Alchemy Laboratory was already alive with activity. Circular stone stations filled the room, cauldrons hovering just above glowing runes, shelves packed with vials, powders, roots, and preserved organs. The air smelled sharp—iron, herbs, and something faintly sweet.
Miss Nyxie stood at the front, her presence commanding silence without effort.
"Today's lesson is practical," Nyxie announced. "Witches will brew. The rest of you will observe, assist if instructed, and document reactions. Alchemy is precision. Not instinct."
Miranda felt the familiar tightening in her chest.
Observe.
Groups formed quickly. Miranda found herself standing across from Eve—a witch whose posture screamed control, whose eyes flicked over Miranda like she was an inconvenience rather than a person.
Eve didn't bother lowering her voice.
"They paired me with that?" she said, looking directly at Miranda. "Of all the capable students in this room."
Miranda stayed silent.
Eve began arranging ingredients with sharp, efficient movements. "You know," she continued, lips curling, "it must be nice. Being born important. No talent required. No effort. Just blood."
Miranda's jaw tightened.
"You're eighteen, aren't you?" Eve went on. "Still no shift. No wolf. No instinct. Just… standing there." She laughed softly. "A decorative heir."
A few students glanced over.
Jane didn't bother hiding her amusement.
Kira's eyes gleamed with interest.
Eve leaned closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "Do you know how fragile you actually are? Strip away your name, and you're nothing. A witch child could end you before you even realized you were dying."
Miranda's breath hitched.
"I earn my power," Eve said coldly. "Every spell scars, every brew demands discipline. You?" She looked Miranda up and down. "You're proof that royal blood doesn't mean worth."
The words crushed down on Miranda's chest, heavy and suffocating.
She didn't move. Didn't speak. But something inside her fractured quietly.
"That's enough."
Duncan Kerr had turned from his station, his expression calm but firm.
Eve sneered. "Did I ask for your opinion?"
"This is a classroom," Duncan replied evenly. "Not a place to satisfy your ego."
Miss Nyxie's gaze snapped toward them.
Eve scoffed, returning to her cauldron. "Fine. I'll save honesty for outside."
That was when Miranda stepped back.
She turned and left without a word, her footsteps measured even as her vision blurred.
The corridor beyond the lab was empty and quiet.
Melissa found her moments later, standing rigid near a tall window, fingers gripping the stone ledge.
"Miranda," she said softly.
"I feel like a joke," Miranda admitted, her voice barely holding. "Like they're just waiting for me to fail so they can say they were right."
Melissa shook her head. "They don't hate weakness. They hate mystery. And you scare them."
Inside the lab, Miss Nyxie approached Eve once the class settled.
"Arrogance," Nyxie said coolly, "is the fastest way to expose ignorance. Control yourself."
Eve stiffened, jaw clenched.
Later, when Miranda returned to collect her things, she paused.
Down the corridor, Miss Nyxie stood speaking with another professor.
"Professor Dietrich," Nyxie said.
The name struck something deep.
Miranda looked up—and met his gaze.
Just for a moment.
Recognition flickered. Then his expression smoothed into polite indifference as he turned and walked away.
Miranda stood frozen, heart pounding.
Eve was wrong about one thing.
She wasn't nothing.
And someone in this school already knew it.