The three of them headed downstairs to the murmur of voices from the common room. Through the arch, Luna saw three boys seated around a low table, sharing a quiet laugh; a girl dozed on the sofa, chin bobbing.

  The term hadn't begun, so the school cafeteria was still closed. Students who arrived early—or refused to go home—had to fend for themselves.

  "Let's conquer breakfast. Francis, tea. I'll demonstrate the art of the fried egg for our new girl."

  Trey clapped once, striding toward the kitchen.

  "Tea?" Francis said flatly. "I'd better start brewing the food-poisoning antidote instead."

  "Confidence is half the recipe," Trey said, already at the stove.

  Francis pulled a chair out for Luna at a round table, then went to help—or possibly prevent—Trey from cooking.

  A figure appeared in the doorway: the sharp-eyed redhead from Luna's room. Her hair hadn't quite decided on a shape after sleep, but her gaze could cut rope. She crossed her arms the moment Trey lit the burner.

  "Not this again."

  "Good morning to you too, Reid," Trey said, cracking an egg into the pan so violently the oil erupted.

  The egg blackened with supernatural speed.

  Reid slid behind him, seized the pan, and Trey promptly maneuvered her between himself and the carnage.

  "Stay over there before you burn the house down," she said, pointing at the farthest counter.

  Trey retreated to the table and beamed at Luna. "She's Reid—savior of our stomachs and crusher of my culinary dreams."

  Reid passed a loaf to Francis to slice, then tipped her chin at Luna. "Who's this?"

  "Your new roommate," Trey said brightly. "Name's Luna. Fresh catch. A gift from Ermin."

  A gift that nearly got me throttled by Ermin, he did not add.

  Reid's eyebrows climbed. "Poor thing."

  "She's promising," Trey said, edging back toward the eggs—only to flinch at Reid's death glare. "Problem is, she's got to take the written exam in four days. Unless..."

  His grin widened as he watched Reid tip fluffy eggs onto a platter. "My dearest friend Reid—how about you tutor her?"

  "In exchange for what?" she asked, spooning a generous portion onto Luna's plate.

  "In exchange for getting to boss me around the whole time."

  "Can we compromise on peace, where you just get lost instead?"

  "Sorry—package deal. No substitutions. Take it, or I whisper study tips in your ear."

  Reid sighed and bit into toast. "Do not get this the wrong way," she told Luna, then turned the flattest look on Trey. "Get lost, Lancaster!"

  Trey looked unreasonably pleased—Luna suspected antagonizing people was his favorite hobby. Otherwise, how could everyone, including the headmaster, react to him exactly like this?

  She wasn't so sure about her future anymore.

  By the time they'd scraped the last crumbs off their plates, Ermin strode in, swiped three slices of toast, and spoke around the first bite.

  "Lancaster." He pointed at Luna. "Don't forget to grab her clothes and supplies from Registration. Bring her back to the back lawn by eleven."

  "There are clothes prepared for me?" Luna asked.

  Trey's mouth curved into a smirk. He leaned in. "You'd be surprised how many students get recruited the way you did. Some were mid-bath — towels barely made it, let alone their luggage."

  For the first time since she'd met him, everyone silently agreed with Trey.

  "Hm."

  Luna stood on a low platform, arms out, while Mrs. Hobbins from Registration looped a tape around her waist.

  They were in a fitting room at the end of the main corridor. Fabric bolts and folded uniforms lined the shelves; shoe racks were stacked with every size. Mrs. Hobbins scribbled notes with a stubby pencil, measured Luna's wrist, and clucked in quiet disapproval.

  "You're all skin and bones," she muttered, looping the tape around her neck. "You need feeding—stew, bread, something. One stiff wind and off you go." Her eyes cut to Trey, lounging on a mound of cloth, flicking dust from his sleeve. "And you—ever feed your friends?"

  Trey lifted both hands in mock surrender. "I tried. She bites."

  "Then feed her better."

  Mrs. Hobbins huffed and piled four sets of uniforms into Luna's arms, then shoved a sack of casual clothes and toiletries at Trey.

  Luna murmured her thanks, face warm under the older woman's brisk fussing.

  Trey, ever the performer, gave Mrs. Hobbins an exaggerated bow before steering Luna toward the door.

  They crossed the lawn under the late-morning sun. The air had warmed, and clusters of students drifted past. Not far off, a two-story house sat amid a wide field of lavender, its scent drifting faintly on the breeze. Distant children's laughter carried across the grounds.

  "Lavender Vales," Trey murmured near her ear. "Could be your new house—who knows."

  Luna shot him a look. "New house, my ass."

  She said it, but her mouth almost betrayed a smile. Then her expression shifted; she swallowed, drew a breath, and spoke.

  "Sorry to be a burden. I'll try not to cause trouble."

  Trey blinked, then waved that away. "Oh, that? I just made a show of complaining. Ermin needs a win every now and then, you know— lowers the blast radius next time I screw up. I don't think you're a burden, though." He ruffled her hair—hard. "Besides, causing trouble's my hobby. You're the one who'd better brace."

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  She batted his hand aside, smoothing her hair—but couldn't resist smiling.

  "Still," he said, glancing at her wrists, "we're stuffing food in you. I refuse to be friends with a walking chicken leg."

  He measured her wrist between his fingers. The space around it was ridiculous.

  "I'll stop biting then," Luna said, hugging the uniforms closer.

  Whatever waited ahead, it couldn't be worse than the Thompsons.

  Mr. Atkins had said as much.

  They followed a pine-bordered path back toward Pine Hollow. Luna noticed seven other lanes branching off, each bordered by a different kind of tree. Trey explained that those led to the other houses.

  Oddly, the pinewood by day felt open, not the oppressive shadow of last night. The air carried a faint, resin-sweet scent of pine as Trey steered her to the back lawn—a broad sweep of grass cradled by rocky rises and dense wood.

  Ermin waited, hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled to the elbow—looking far more ready for work than he had yesterday. Francis and Reid sat on a wooden bench off to the side. Trey took the bundles from Luna and flopped down beside them, giving her shoulder a quick, encouraging pat.

  "All right," Ermin said, studying Luna. "Before we begin, I need you to think about what happened back in Upperbeak—the blasts. What did it feel like?"

  Luna shifted, fingers digging small crescents into her palms. She glanced at him, gathered her courage, and answered uncertainly.

  "I... don't know, sir. All I heard was my heartbeat—and then my head went white. Then..."

  She faltered. Her throat tightened. Ermin nodded once—a quiet prompt. He only wanted the details; he wasn't judging.

  "And when I came back to myself, everything was chaos. It's always like that."

  "Every time?" he asked.

  She nodded, not sure whether that was a good sign.

  Ermin paused for a long moment, frowning in thought, then looked to the others. "Anyone in our house seen this pattern before?"

  Francis shook his head slowly.

  "Hm." Ermin stroked his chin.

  Then again, Lancaster has a talent for delivering the rarest headaches on the shelf.

  "Not unheard of. Quanta expresses differently in everyone. Odd cases happen. Good—gives Lancaster extra homework."

  Trey squawked. "Hey."

  "If I don't assign you problems," Ermin said dryly, "you bring me bigger ones. No offense, Luna."

  "None taken," Luna said, smiling faintly. Trey still looked wronged.

  "Remind me why I haven't requested a house transfer," he muttered.

  "Because we tolerate you, Trey," the three of them said in unison.

  Trey clutched his heart in mock injury. Ermin ignored him.

  "Make that your training goal," he told Luna. "Practice not losing control. The field exam tests basic applications—push, lift, spark, move—three separate tasks. You'll perform them without hurting yourself or anyone else."

  His gaze fixed on hers. "But first, we teach you to draw it on command. Quanta flows through the blood. You have to feel it before you can call it."

  Luna frowned. "Feel it how?"

  "Like listening to your own pulse," he said. "You intend for it to come—it responds to intent. Then you give it form—project it as force, spark, anything you want. Projection always follows intention."

  "Did you hear that?" Trey shouted. "Think of something nice so you don't blow the house up!"

  "Ignore him," Ermin said mildly. "Try it now. Focus inward. Feel what's moving through you— and draw it out."

  Luna closed her eyes. Her breath snagged. She tried to hear her pulse—a faint, distant hoofbeat in the dark.

  Then nothing.

  How—?

  "Focus," Ermin said.

  She tried again. The sound lingered this time—closer—but that was all.

  Intention, she mouthed. Just come out. Please.

  "Damn it," she hissed. Just when she'd gotten close, it slipped away.

  Jaw tight, she clenched her fists until the tendons stood out. The pulse roared closer. A faint tingling seeped through her fingertips, spreading under her skin. Her heart hammered.

  Then—emptiness.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was on the ground. Trey and Francis had shot to their feet, ready to react, but Ermin lifted a hand to keep them back. He offered Luna a water flask.

  "Drink," he said. "It'll help."

  She drank greedily, the cool liquid grounding her.

  "How close is she?" Ermin asked, turning to Francis.

  "Very," Francis said after a quick scan—checking her color, breathing, balance.

  "Good. Deep breath. Do it again," Ermin said. "As before."

  Luna rose, drew in a breath—

  —and froze.

  What about before it happens?

  Ermin had asked what she felt as it happened. But what about before?

  She thought of the time she was running from Mr. Thompson across the stone bridge. Of Fred slamming her into a wall. Of the hulking man in the marketplace, raising a hoe above her—

  She drew breath—and held it.

  Every time, she realized.

  Luna opened her eyes, exhaled once, then filled her lungs to the edge and held. The pulse thundered in her skull.

  The grass at her feet shivered for five long seconds—then stilled.

  "Good," Ermin said, clapping once. "Now don't let it diffuse—focus it in your hands." He shoved a wooden bowl into her palms and poured in water. "Make it move."

  Luna tried. The sun slid low; the horizon blushed. She still held the bowl, arms trembling. Sometimes the grass answered. Sometimes, nothing did. Ermin had long since gone to sit with the others.

  "If grass were on the exam, she'd pass five times already," Trey yawned.

  "Not the time, Trey," Reid said, not looking up from the tome on her lap.

  Luna gritted her teeth and shut her eyes. Too tired to keep going—yet she filled her lungs to the brim and listened. The pulse came. She seized it. Her hands prickled down to the nails; energy surged hot through her veins. She dragged it toward her palms.

  Do it.

  BOOM!

  The explosion threw Luna backward before she even knew what happened. She hit the ground hard on her hip, ears ringing, face and clothes drenched. Splinters of the bowl rained down across the lawn.

  Francis froze, fear spread across his face before he lunged forward, dropping to his knees beside her. Two fingers found her pulse. The others closed in. Luna lay still, chest rising and falling. Then, with a gasp, color crept back into her cheeks as her eyes fluttered open.

  "Was that good enough?" she asked, smiling weakly, heart still racing, ears ringing.

  "That was too much," Francis said, face pale but voice steady. "Don't do that again. You'll hurt yourself."

  "I'm fine," she whispered.

  He didn't answer, but his hands kept ghosting over her arms and shoulders. Ermin glanced between them and cut in, voice crisp.

  "Enough for today. Tomorrow we'll try another way. And Luna—" he paused, "do as he says." With that, he turned and strode back toward the house.

  Trey crouched beside her, grinning like the explosion had made his week. "Look at you—day one and already breaking stuff. Not bad."

  "Not now, Trey," Reid said, coming up beside him.

  Trey only shrugged and slid an arm behind Luna's back to help her sit. "I meant it. You did well. Shook the yard on your first try. Care to join me in my exploding library later?"

  Francis's shoulders loosened a fraction, though worry still shadowed his eyes. "You should let me examine you."

  Luna sighed. "Fine—after a bath?"

  She held up her mud-caked hands. He hesitated, then nodded. "Bath first. Then my room."

  Trey hauled her to her feet with a crooked smile.

  "Third floor. Directly above yours."

  Luna stopped before a wooden door marked 3F in gold and knocked three times.

  "Come in, Luna."

  She pushed it open—and blinked.

  "How did you know it was me?"

  "You knocked," Trey and Francis said at the same time—one from each side of the room.

  The inside wasn't what she'd imagined. It should have been the same as her room, just with two beds—yet somehow it looked narrower. Both long walls were crowded with shelves of glass jars and bottles filled with mysterious solutions. Bundles of drying herbs hung from twine overhead. Thick tomes and scrolls sprawled across the floor. One bed was buried beneath a mountain of cushions.

  Francis sat at the desk beside it, head bent over a notebook, mortar and pestle at hand. His light blond hair was dusted with green-brown powder, and the air was sharp with alcohol and herbs.

  And in stark contrast, the far corner was immaculate—drawers shut, shoes paired, blanket folded with military precision. Trey lounged there, arms behind his head, humming as he watched her reaction.

  Luna pointed, incredulous. "That's your side?"

  "Smaller space, easier to clean," Trey said cheerfully.

  She still didn't believe her eyes—then remembered something. "Is this why you only have one drawer?" She gestured at the chaos around them.

  "Exactly. Also why no one wants to room with us," Trey said earnestly.

  "Sometimes it's me. Sometimes it's him," Francis said dryly, still writing. "Sit, Luna."

  Where? she almost asked—but Francis gestured toward a brown loveseat tucked along the wall near the door. She frowned.

  "Wait. Why do you two get to have a couch?" Two people didn't need extra furniture. It felt unfair.

  "Not ours," Trey said instantly, waving the question away.

  "How can it not be yours when—"

  The door burst open again, and a tall, muscular man stumbled in, collapsing face-first onto the couch. "Creek! My shoulder's about to fall off. Fix it!"

  Trey arched a brow at Luna and smiled. "Told you. Not ours."