The red clock hung over the back of the seat. Long stringy oily black hair covered the woman’s face. The flies swarmed around Rita’s still living body as they placed her in the officer’s car. The stench of rotten seaweed clung to her like a second skin, the sour tang of decay curling in the air. Flies hovered close, buzzing in lazy circles as if drawn to something already half-dead. Part of her cheek was intentionally cut off, clearly the result of some kind of sharp blade. The dress she wore was covered in mud. What was once a soft pastel blue showed signs of something more sinister and grim. Her lips, dry and crumbled. Despite her fragile and wounded appearance, she moved fluidly, like waves softly rocking a boat on the water. She scratched at scars embedded in her crackled skin.

  Thomas watched from the safety of his dorm-room window as the car drove away from the gates of the school with ease. "That’s weird" he muttered to himself as he dusted off an old textbook and placed it under the leg of his wobbly writing desk. He looked back at the car driving deeper into the forest. Normally it would take at least several minutes to navigate the intricately woven ward lines protecting the school, but the car moved effortlessly through.

  He swung his backpack over one shoulder and headed out, letting the dormitory door click shut behind him.

  The Living Lobby opened before him, bright and bustling, a world contained within itself. No matter how many times he passed through, the sheer scale of it always threw him off. It was grand—too grand, really, for something supposedly "just a dormitory."

  Three stories tall, shaped like an enormous open rectangle, it served as the nexus of student life. The dorms lined the walls in three ascending tiers, their doorways carved into polished wooden balconies that wrapped around the upper floors. Golden railings framed each level, gleaming under the hazy sunlight filtering through the enchanted glass ceiling.

  On the main floor, clusters of students filled the space, some lounging at long tables, others perched along the wide staircases leading up to the dorms. Their voices wove together into an endless murmur, punctuated by bursts of laughter or the occasional clatter of books and quills.

  It wasn’t physically part of the academy, not really. Everyone knew the Living Lobby existed in a pocket dimension, a place too large to actually fit on campus, yet seamlessly connected to the instructional halls by a single bricked corridor. It had always felt like a strange in-between space, somewhere caught between the academy’s history and the students who passed through it.

  Thomas barely glanced at the glowing chandeliers hanging from invisible chains or the way the golden accents shimmered faintly with magic. This was normal now. What mattered was finding a quiet place to work.

  He eyed the left side of the lobby, where the noise thinned out. He wove his way through the crowd, offering a lazy wave to a friend stepping out of a dorm on the second floor.

  Distracted, his foot caught on something. He stumbled, barely catching himself before falling flat on his face. Frowning, he glanced down.

  A book lay open at his feet, pages pristine, its glossy cover catching the light like freshly polished glass.

  He bent down, brushing the dust from the title.

  "Pelican Yodels and Donut Gnocchi?" he read aloud, bemused.

  A few students glanced over as he held the book up.

  "Anyone drop this?"

  Heads shook.

  Thomas arched a brow. Weird.

  Shrugging, he took the nearest empty table and flipped the book open.

  Mystic walked through the long bricked corridor leading toward the dorms, her steps slow, her thoughts heavier than usual.

  She had planned to go straight to her room. The head nurse had suggested she take the rest of the day to “process things,” as if she didn’t already know she was a mess.

  What she hadn’t planned for was running into Thomas Reed.

  She sighed. At least it wasn’t Nick.

  "You okay?" asked Thomas. He didn’t look up when he spoke and instead flipped through the book, perplexed at the gibberish printed on the pages. "Aren’t you supposed to be in potions now?"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "What’s it to you?" Mystic muttered, swiping at her eyes before he could see. She didn’t need pity.

  Thomas finally looked up from his book, one eyebrow raised, unimpressed. "Wow. Can’t a guy ask a simple question?"

  Mystic crossed her arms.

  Thomas smirked, stretching his arms behind his head. "Look, I’m just trying to be a good big brother here. Lily’s friend looks miserable. Feels like my duty to, I don’t know, throw a lifeline or whatever." Thomas Reed was never one to help out his sister, and definitely not one to help out his sister’s friends. Whenever Lily was around Thomas acted as if his sister never existed. The fact that he even acknowledged Mystic must have meant that he wanted something out of the girl.

  "Right." Mystic huffed. "And what do you want in return?"

  He held up the book. "Hey, you’re good at baking right? I found this, but it’s gibberish. I think it’s a recipe." He handed her the book. The letters scrambled on the page like alphabet soup. "You know, maybe it might help get your mind off of whatever it is you’re upset about?" He pulled out the chair next to him offering it to her.

  Mystic wasn’t usually the type to hang out with Thomas. He was a year older than her and they were nothing more than just acquaintances. She never failed to listen to Lily’s stories of unrequited admiration for her brother. And Mystic knew how Thomas never stopped to give Lily the time of day. The fact that he knew who she was, let alone her name, baffled her. But, she took the seat anyways. Maybe deciphering a recipe was just what she needed to get her mind off of the events from the morning.

  Mystic frowned as she stared at the messy, nonsensical script. Then, just as she was about to close the book, the ink shimmered. The letters twisted, rearranging themselves like tiny ripples on water. For a moment, they seemed almost liquid—until the words finally locked into place. They stopped. On the page were the instructions to bake "Easygoing Caramel Fudge."

  "I thought you said this wasn’t readable?" Mystic asked. "Seems perfectly readable to me"

  "It isn’t! Or at least, it wasn’t" Thomas rubbed his eyes and grabbed the book. "How’d you—? Some sort of pixie-wixie magic stuff?"

  "I didn’t do anything"

  Thomas looked at her and then down at the recipe. He didn’t know how long whatever Mystic did to the book would last so he rummaged in his bag for a spare pencil and paper.

  Mystic pushed in her chair and left the lobby, heading toward the open staircase. She hadn’t expected much from talking to Thomas, but now… something was different. The tightness in her chest had loosened, if only a little.

  As she climbed the steps to the second floor, her feet felt heavier than usual, like her body was fighting against returning to her own space.

  She hesitated at the door to her dorm, fingers hovering over the handle. For a moment, she considered turning around and going anywhere else.

  Instead, she sighed and stepped inside.

  Her backpack thumped onto the floor, forgotten, as she collapsed onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, swallowing her into the softness, but it didn’t feel comforting.

  The faint patter of tiny feet skittered across her dresser. Mystic didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

  Poori.

  The little lizard let out a sharp, impatient screech, but Mystic barely reacted. That was wrong. She always greeted him the second she walked in. But tonight, there was no smile, no excited petting, no playful banter.

  Poori chirped again.

  Mystic buried her face deeper into the pillow.

  "Not now, Poori." She wasn’t in the mood for his usual antics.

  The lizard hesitated, then scattered back to the edge of the dresser, claws clicking against the wood. He gave himself a running start, then leapt—his orange-and-red spotted wings spreading wide as he glided through the air.

  He landed beside her, tiny feet pressing into her bedsheets, leaving a trail of warm imprints where he walked.

  Another grunt.

  Mystic didn’t move.

  A beat of silence.

  Then—a sharp burst of heat.

  Mystic jolted up as a tiny ember flared across the fabric, burning a small blackened hole into her bedsheet. "POORI!"

  Her hands slapped out the flame before it could spread.

  She turned on him, anger rising—but the frustration wasn’t really about him, was it?

  Poori just blinked at her, tilting his head like he didn’t understand why she wasn’t acting like herself.

  Her fingers shook as she reached for him.

  "You can’t do that here," she scolded, but her voice lacked the usual bite.

  Poori only let out a small happy chirp as he pranced into her palm. He curled into himself, wings tucking neatly against his sides, tail wrapping around his tiny body.

  Mystic held him up to eye level.

  His scaly head nudged against her nose, warm and grounding.

  She let out a breath. “Thanks." She stroked his back absentmindedly, staring past him, past the room, lost in thought.

  The morning had shaken her in a way she hadn’t expected.

  She had always considered herself smart—not just in academics, but in her ability to read people, to understand things quickly, to solve problems before they got worse. She liked knowing she had the answers. That she could figure things out.

  But today? Today, she had been helpless. Not clever. Not quick. Just trapped.

  And worse—she had felt fragile.

  The fear still clung to her, no matter how much she tried to rationalize it away. She could pretend she was fine in front of Thomas, in front of Elora, but here, alone in her room?

  She was terrified.

  Terrified that if something like that happened again, she wouldn’t be able to get out. That maybe she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was—at least not in ways that actually mattered. Books didn’t prepare you for real danger.

  Poori nuzzled against her thumb, as if sensing her thoughts. He didn’t understand, not really. But he had been with her for years, and that was enough.

  His tiny contented chirps filled the silence as he curled up tighter in her hand.

  Mystic let out a slow breath. She still felt small. Fragile. Scared. But at least she wasn’t alone.