Across all years and social groups, the students always cluster together by affinity. The colored marks on their hands showing clusters of blue, white, green, or red. Legacies sit with legacies, aspirants with aspirants, and offerings with offerings. Affinity, social status, and class year divide us as clearly as the border markings on a map between warring countries.

I glance upward at the upper years, noting how much less rowdy they seem. How much more hardened. Some are only a year older than us, but the way they carry themselves is a testament to what it takes to survive this place. To how much we’ll all change if we make it through our first year alive.

I look around at my slowly growing group of friends and hope beyond hope that we’ll all make it together. I can’t stand the thought of losing any of them, even our new addition of Beck. I guess the last three years were so fucking lonely in Saltcrest that I’m desperate for connections, now. Hungry for friends. For meaning.

Beck slathers honey and butter on a piece of bread and takes a large bite, closing his eyes in momentary bliss. Mireen, Ambrose, and Beck have been making increasingly outlandish guesses about what the water trial will be as we eat. For my part, I'm shoveling down food as quickly as I can because I want to have as much time as possible to look over the unbound book Bastian gave me last night.

That book feels like my best hope of surviving the trial, especially if anything in there talks about how to make better use of my powers. My marked palm burns slightly beneath its disguise, a constant reminder of how I don't truly belong with any affinity group here. I'm something else. Something different.

And if last night's brief reading of the book is any indication, I'm something dangerous.

It would be the ultimate irony if I sacrificed myself to the selector because I thought Saltcrest and my family would be better off without me, only to wind up unlocking an even more poisonous and dangerous potential by coming here.

The thoughts are sour, and I set down what's left of my food, appetite suddenly vanishing.

But I can't feel sorry for myself. There's no room for that here. I'm too far behind, and I desperately need to learn to improve my channeling skills before the water trial and Confluence Day.

The other students are already beginning to specialize—finding unique magical talents beyond the simple things we practice like creating water orbs. Some can already make intricate shapes or move their magic through the air with speed and velocity.

And me?

I'm not making any progress, and the gap between me and the others is growing by the day. It's only a matter of time before someone notices just how different I am.

"What do you think, Nessa?"