“Ha! You funny. ‘Personal quarantine zone,’” he scoffed as if I’d told him a particularly cute joke. “They’re just cowards.”

  He gestured at the students deliberately detouring around him. “They’re scared. Of me. Of my destructive magic. So they keep their distance. Can’t say I blame them.”

  He delivered this dramatic revelation with the emotional weight of someone commenting on a cloudy afternoon. At that point, the invisible vacuum around him was starting to make perfect sense.

  “Brilliant,” I said. “A neighbourhood-level destroyer. How comforting. Thanks, but I don’t need someone else’s magic.”

  He snorted and gave me a look so patronising it probably came with its own warranty.

  “We’ll see how long that attitude lasts. No patron, no protection… Tarnograd isn’t exactly designed for people like you.”

  “Do me a favour and disappear,” I muttered. “You’re genuinely tiring.”

  He just smirked, clearly enjoying every second of my irritation, and as he walked off, tossed over his shoulder:

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  “By the way, name’s Drake Schafer. You’ll be back, crawling for protection. This place chews up succubi.”

  I walked away from… Drake, telling myself with every step that I’d survive just fine without patrons, saviours, or his smug little grin.

  Crawling back, my ass. I’d rather join a zombie knitting club rather than beg some self-appointed dark hero for help.

  But just when I thought the drama quota was full for the morning, I felt eyes on me. My inner alarm system went off — that delightful sixth sense that screams you’re about to have a bad time.

  I turned around.

  Of course. Lavinia.

  How could I possibly forget the girl whose hair I heroically deforested yesterday?

  Luxurious, by the way — all glossy and perfect… the kind you see in shampoo adverts and want to slap. I wonder if she gets it laminated? Do they even have hair lamination in this world? And manicures?

  Where does she get her nails done, or is that just some sort of spell?

  Hmm.

  If there’s a magical way to look as annoyingly flawless as she does, honestly... sign me up. I’ll study those spells like my life depends on it.

  “Well?” she purred, eyes narrowing. “Drake turned you down? Did you really think you could get someone like him to protect you? You’re not his type. Not even close”

  I bit down hard, mentally scrolling through a catalogue of comebacks, but she closed the distance before I could use any of them. Her voice dropped, cold and venomous.

  “No one’s going to help you here,” she whispered, smiling like she was enjoying every syllable. “Remember when I told you to watch your back? You should have listened. And crossing me? That was a mistake. A very immediate one.”

  I didn’t even get a chance to blink.

  Her fingers lit up with a cold, bluish glow, and before my brain could catch up, a pulsing stream of energy — disturbingly alive — came flying straight at me.