Noah stops at the top of the stairs and French-tucks his shirt into the front of his trendy whitewashed jeans. He smiles freely, revealing two dimples at the ends of his mouth. “Sure, I love break-dancing. But it’s easy when you’ve got Miru blood in your veins. Half the work is already done for you.”

Most protector-clan witches are born with either superhuman speed or strength. But Noah was blessed with both. Definitely a case of good genes (and also, good jeans).

“As for martial arts, I get by.”

Hattie coughs. “Humble, much? He’s only the undefeated national Taegwondo champion for his age group, not to mention he also does Capoeira, Hapkido, and Zumba.”

Noah blushes slightly at Hattie’s praise but grins. “Zumba is by far the hardest. Never realized how hard it was to do a shimmy while shaking your hips. You guys should come to a class one day. It’s an awesome workout.”

Emmett tries to hide it, but I see the smile creeping up his face. This is the first time he’s met Noah, but it’s clear even Emmett isn’t immune to his charm. There’s something about Noah’s quiet confidence that screams I’m cool. The cute glasses and fauxhawk don’t hurt, either.

“Seriously, though, it’s nothing special,” Noah explains. “Martial arts kinda comes with the territory.”

Noah’s dad is a Taegwondo grandmaster and comes from one of the most well-known protector families in the Miru clan. His dojang in the heart of Koreatown is famous for churning out Olympic-level martial artists, but you wouldn’t know it by walking in there.

We enter through the staff-only back door. The training studio is drab and outdated, with peeling wallpaper and way-too-bright lights. The sound of voices chanting Taegwondo commands reverberates through the walls.

“Just keep your voices down,” says Noah. “My appa is teaching a class in the front studio, but we should have five minutes before the session finishes.” He leads us down a hallway to what I assume is his dad’s office.

My first thought when we enter the room is Whoa, if Taegwondo were a goddess, this room would be her shrine. The place is littered with trophies of all shapes and sizes—on the desk, on the shelves, on top of a stack of pressed white uniforms, and even on the floor. It’s obvious the dojang has won its fair share of competitions.

Noah closes the door behind him and rests his back against it. He nudges his glasses up on his nose. “Hey, I’m sorry about what happened earlier, at temple,” he says to me. “That was pretty rough. I can only imagine what you must be going through right—”

“Thanks,” I quickly interrupt before he can say anything else to raise Emmett’s suspicions. “I understand you know how to summon Mago Halmi,” I say instead, looking at Hattie for confirmation.