She stops in front of Rafe, who is inspecting what might be a human liver but could also be a spleen because I don’t actually know the difference. The tall girl is looking into a complex contraption of lenses and brass that I think is a very fancy microscope.

“Apprentice Castle, until you choose your guild and your focus of study, Journeys Vanguard and Keftiu will make good partners, as they are also new to the institute.”

“Actually, Master Hayyan,” Rafe says, not even acknowledging my presence, “Mbali and I will continue to work alone.” He opens his multi-tool—which I have learned is officially called a Heliotorch, but everyone just calls them “spoons”—and lights a flame beneath the wobbling organ in front of him.

“Journey Vanguard,” the professor responds firmly, “that was an instruction, not a request.”

Rafe continues his work, unfazed. “I’m sure you can find someone else to assist the recruit.” The saccharine way he says “recruit” makes it clear he wishes to say something else entirely.

“In that case,” the professor counters harshly, “I’m sure the Bioscience hoverjoust team won’t be needing your assistance either.”

Rafe snaps his spoon—which is ostentatiously gold—shut and looks up. His face remains neutral. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not an apprentice to be scolded.”

“The choice is yours, Journey Vanguard.”

He stares her down but doesn’t object again.

Master Hayyan turns to me and says, “Why don’t you start by making homing pigeons. They’re simple golems, and an excellent form of practice.”

As Master Hayyan walks away, the tall girl smiles at me. “My name is Mbali.” She has a strong, melodious accent. “Sorry about him.” She rolls her eyes at Rafe.

There is clear camaraderie and affection between them that makes me wonder if they’re more than friends. She’s not the same girl who was clinging to him in the cafeteria earlier, but something tells me that a lot of girls cling to Rafe.

“Fie on this!” Rafe sneers. “Just because Avant’s Sire curriculum is more advanced than Genesis’s shouldn’t mean we have to waste our time catching her up.” He ends his rant by walking away.

“Don’t worry,” Mbali says. “I’ll help you.” She gives a brief explanation of the experimentation she’s doing with viper venom.

Rafe returns and drops a box of putty in front of me. “Here. Make some pigeons.”

I sink my hands into the putty and pull out a handful. It’s soft and pliable and immediately molds to the shape of my palm.

“What is this stuff?” I ask.

Rafe groans. “They sent her to the Sire lab without knowing the basics of the high materials?” He massages his temples. “I can’t believe this. I’m not a gravdamn nursemaid.”

More like a whiny baby. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not standing right here,” I say.