"The enemy is not human!" Ambrose mocks in a whispered impression of Pilton. "They're violent, bloodthirsty animals. Would you⁠—"

A piece of chalk bounces off Ambrose's forehead, stopping him mid-sentence. He adjusts his glasses, blinking in surprise.

"If you have something to add to this discussion, offering," Pilton says, his voice deadly calm, "I invite you to stand and share it with the rest of us."

Ambrose pales. "No, sir. Sorry, sir."

Pilton snorts and turns back to the map, but not before his eyes flicker briefly to me. I drop my gaze to my notes, suddenly very interested in the sketch I've made of troop formations.

I feel someone watching me and glance up to find Raith turned in his seat, eyes boring into mine. His expression is unreadable, but there's something assessing in his gaze that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I hold his stare for a heartbeat, or two, before he turns back to the front, leaving me feeling undressed by his eyes, measured me for a coffin, or both.

Charming.

When class is over, legacies rise first to leave. Aspirants follow, and then finally the offerings head out.

"Think Instructor Sestra is going to go any easier on you today?" Mireen asks as we head toward the southern wing of campus where channeling class is held.

"Doubt it." The thought of channeling class makes my stomach clench with dread. Two weeks of trying and I still haven't been able to produce even a drop of water.

Ambrose nudges me from my other side. "Have you tried... not being terrible at magic, Nessa? I imagine that would really work wonders with the woman."

"Oh, yeah? That's a genius idea. I can't believe I didn't think of it." I shove him back, but there's no real force behind it.

We're passing through the courtyard when I see Serena and a pair of fire affinities huddled in the shade of a tree with Malakai and what must be his "team."

I slow my pace and then stop to stare. "What do you think that's about?"

Ambrose runs his tongue over his teeth. "Well, Serena doesn't appear to be stabbing anyone. That rules out my best guesses."

"You think Malakai is trying to make some kind of cross-affinity alliance? Is that a thing?" I ask.

Mireen shakes her head, blue eyes catching the mid-afternoon sun streaming into the courtyard. "If it's not, I think they're trying to make it one."

I study their body language, trying to pick up clues. Malakai is a mountain of muscle, carved like a statue meant to represent some hero from the stories. But the cruel turn of his features keeps him from being handsome. And his eyes... there's something missing in them. An emptiness, like there's nothing behind them but an empty pit of hatred dark enough to match his black hair.