The TAs distribute large stacks of worksheets. I grab a copy and send the rest along. We spend the first few minutes actually reviewing the pretest. The worksheets are fairly straightforward and a combination of multiple choice and short answer. Nick is as smart as he is good-looking, because of course he is, but he hasn’t covered the material as recently as I have. I stow my questions for now and take the lead to help move things along.

“We’re at the short answer portion now”—I flip my own notebook over to a blank page—“and we’ve got to write these together.”

“Mmm, yeah.” Nick scratches at the faint white-blond stubble on his chin. “I’m not one hundred percent sure on this one…” He reaches across and taps his finger over question ten.

“ ‘Common DNA processes include replication, transcription, and translation. At a high level, describe the distinct functions of these processes.’ ”

“I can’t remember the difference.”

“It’s easy to get the terms mixed up. Replication is making more DNA, transcription uses DNA to make RNA, and translation has to do with ribosomes. They use RNA to make protein.” I sketch a diagram on my notebook. “Visuals help.”

Nick examines my drawing, and his eyes flicker up to mine. “Visuals do help. A lot, actually.” I’m unprepared for his small, appreciative smile. Even at a low wattage, it is warmth and sunlight and summer and entirely distracting and it makes me squirm in my seat.

We speed through the remaining five short answer questions and finish with ten minutes to go. Ripping a sheet out of my notebook, I scribble down a few words. When I shove the sheet into his hands, he braces himself like the paper might explode on contact. I watch his eyes dart over the list of words—Shadowborn, Legendborn, Page, Onceborn, mesmer, Merlin, Kingsmage, aether—before he crumples the page in his fist and shoves it into his pocket.

I lean into his space. “I’m not gonna let it go.”

Nick takes a slow, steadying breath, still facing straight ahead. “How are you… doing this?”

“Not sure.” I push against the wound in my mouth. “Pain, I think,” I murmur. His eyes snap to mine in concern, but I wave him off and whisper, “Better question: How do the Merlins do it?”

He shakes his head. “Whatever questions you have, I promise you, the answers aren’t worth it. You should act like last night and the Quarry never happened.”

“Pens down!” Dr. Ogren directs our attention back to the front of the classroom.

“Can’t do that.”