"Don't let them see they get to you," Ambrose whispers, his eyes knowing behind his glasses as he watches Malakai and his allies. "That's what they want."

He's right, of course. I force my expression into neutrality as the next student takes their turn. But inside, frustration simmers. If only I could show what I'm truly capable of—summon Typhon in his true form, bend all four elements to my will. The looks on their faces would be worth it.

Almost worth it, anyway. I'd have a few moments of satisfaction before Empire higher-ups were breathing down my neck. Some might want to steal me away and turn me into their personal weapons. More likely, I'd wind up dead before any of that happened.

By the time the class ends, my mood has plummeted to new depths.

"Sestra's blind," Mireen mutters as we leave the classroom. "She acts like you're not improving."

"Am I?" I ask, guilt gnawing at me. My friends don't understand the real reason I'm "struggling." They don't realize I may not be able to form pretty pillars of water, but I can already weave water and fire together to make jets of steam thanks to what I learned from Bastian’s unbound book and Voss’ lessons. But none of those talents are going to get me through Sestra's class, so I'm stuck letting my friends think I'm falling behind.

Another lie in a growing collection.

"Of course you're getting better." She links her arm through mine as we walk down the corridor. Ahead of us, Beck and Ambrose argue good-naturedly about lunch options. "Everyone progresses at different rates. And honestly, who cares about perfect water columns when the Crucible is all about survival? And you've got Oceanus the flying fish," she adds with a wink. "And the most deadly first year promising to watch your back, along with a legacy I'm pretty sure has a massive crush on you. And us."

"Sestra cares," I mutter, even though I know she's right. I also don't even bother arguing with her about Raith and Bastian because I know it's a lost cause. My continued failure in channeling class is getting to me. "She's determined to make me look like I don't belong here. If there wasn't already a target on my back, she's painting one herself. It's like she's trying to make sure people think I'm weak. Easy prey."

"Sestra is a bitter old woman," Mireen says with surprising venom. "Don't let her get to you."

I grin, because I know Sestra lavishes Mireen with praise and the two of them seem to get along better than most. I still appreciate Mireen trying to cheer me up, though, so I don't make a point of mentioning it.