“This is Toto by the way,” she said, pointing to a cute gerbil poking its head out of the pocket of her dress.

Max nodded. “Nice to meet you both.”

Casey smiled at him once more.

“How did you get the paper plane to stay in the air for so long?” asked Max.

Casey’s eyes widened at his question.

“Wow, the rumors are true,” she said. “You really are from the outer-rim. Anyone else would’ve been able to guess.”

She took the piece of paper out of Max’s hands and refolded it back into a plane. She then threw it in the air and then focused on it. The plane did a lap around the courtyard.

“I’m what they call an airbringer,” said Casey. “My trait lets me manipulate air. My profile says it’s an uncommon trait. All of the four elemental traits are considered uncommon, actually.”

So cool, thought Max. He was piecing together the way traits worked. They must have their own ranking system going from common to unique. Uncommon was one notch above common. Regardless, the ability to manipulate an element sounded awesome and Max was a little jealous.

“So, what’s your—”

Casey’s question was cut short by a blonde girl in a track suit, knocking into her shoulder as she walked past.

“Stay out of my way, fake-vein,” muttered the blonde girl.

“Who was that?” asked Max.

“Sybil Westley,” sighed Casey. “Don't mind her. You’ll get used to her type soon enough around here. Uh oh, speaking of which—”

Casey’s words were cut off by a new voice.

“Oi, new kid!”

Max became extra alert once more. He had wrongly interpreted Casey’s airplane prank as hostile, but he could immediately hear the venom in the other kid’s voice.

Whoever was talking to them now was definitely not trying to become friends.

Max turned around and half-expected to see his former tormentor Seth standing behind him. Instead, he saw a skinny pale kid with light blond hair parted across his forehead. He was wearing a yellow tie and looked dressed more for prep school than an academy that trained people to fight monsters in a magical tower.

Max didn’t even grant the boy a proper response, merely glaring at him.

“My mates and I were debating on what kind of trait you have,” said the boy. “They think it’s uncommon, but I have a feeling it’s rare. So tell us.”

The kid’s so-called “mates” were three thuggish-looking guys standing behind him. They looked less like actual friends and more like hired bodyguards.

“I’m sorry,” said Max. “Who are you?”

The boy scowled at Max. “Are you a bit slow, new kid? I’m Cyrus Archer. You must have heard of me.”