I hadn't even seen her until now. Serena emerges from behind one of Malakai's followers, her raven-black hair gleaming in the late afternoon light that is streaming through the high windows. Unlike Malakai's cold demeanor, Serena radiates heat and barely contained violence—a fire through and through. She even has the deep yellow-red eyes of a fire, now.

Serena steps closer, trailing a finger along the wall that leaves smoke in its wake. "Something is certainly wrong with her. I have no idea what he sees in you," she adds in a whisper only I can hear.

He? Who is she talking about?

"I'm still learning," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "We all have different methods."

"Different," Serena repeats, stopping just a few feet away. "Yes, you certainly are different, aren't you? Maybe we should find out exactly how different. We could open her up. Just a little bit. Find out if the answers are under her skin?"

She extends her hand. The smoke drifting up from her fingers intensifies and the air begins to shimmer with heat. Behind me, I hear Mireen's sharp intake of breath and Ambrose's panicked whisper: "Nessa, let's⁠—"

"You should all step away from her. Now."

The voice slides through the tension like a sharpened blade. Bastian steps into the corridor from a classroom doorway, his movement so casual it might have been coincidental if not for the perfect timing. His legacy black, silver, and gold stand out amid our whites.

"In your positions, I would be wary of someone you don’t understand," he continues, walking toward us with unhurried confidence. "Not every student is foolish enough to show what they can do. Some are clever enough to keep tricks hidden. To invite underestimation.”

I stare at him in disbelief. What is he doing? He’s trying to convince them I’m secretly dangerous?

Malakai's eyes narrow. "This isn't your concern, legacy."

"Isn't it?" Bastian stops beside me, close enough that I can feel the slight current of air that seems to perpetually surround him. I can see it whipping the fabric of Malakai's uniform against his muscular body.

An ominous whistle of gathering energy fills the hall as the currents of air pick up. It rushes past all of us, buffeting Malakai and his people until they have to squint and raise a hand, covering their faces.

And then the magical wind stops suddenly, the stillness feeling unnatural and dangerous in its wake.

"I've been tasked with observing first-year progress for my father. All first-years." Bastian’s emphasis is subtle but unmistakable.

Serena's hand drops and the shimmer of heat fades, but smoke still curls from her long, elegant fingertips. "Are we supposed to know who your father is, legacy?"