I nearly launched myself out of the chair and almost dropped the book. I turned around.

  He stood far too close for comfort, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets, wearing that smug expression he probably had practised in front of a mirror. Or maybe it just came naturally. Some people were blessed like that. Unfortunately.

  Why does he always sneak up on people?

  He took the chair opposite me without asking, stretched his legs out casually, and leaned back as if the concept of permission had never applied to him. He glanced at the stack of books between us, eyes flicking over the titles with mild amusement, as though they were valiantly trying to protect me from him.

  “Didn’t realise you were a bookworm, Raspberry,” he said, tapping the top book. “Though you’re wasting your time. Weil tangled that curse on purpose. Wouldn’t want life to feel too easy. It’s her signature move.”

  Through clenched teeth, I muttered something extremely unprintable in ancient magical. Apparently, the language lent itself well to insults, because Drake looked mildly impressed.

  “Oh, come on, don’t get angry,” he said, toning down the smirk slightly. “Sabotaging attractive first-years is practically her hobby.”

  “Thank you. Truly comforting. Any actual ideas on how to remove this disaster from my legs?”

  “You want them gone?” Drake drawled, letting his gaze drift downward. “I thought you’d grown attached. They have a certain… distinctive charm.”

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  “Talk, or get lost,” I snapped. “How do I remove the curse?”

  “No problem.” He leaned forward, close enough now that I could smell… something nice - he smelled faintly of parchment, cold stone, and something sharper underneath. Ozone, maybe. Or magic…

  Drake pulled my notes toward himself. His shoulder brushed the table as he moved, casual and unbothered, like proximity had never once made him uncomfortable. “You need to find the transition symbol here,” he pointed at the diagram, “otherwise you’ll just layer another spell on top. Also — if you really want to ruin Weil’s day, you could reflect the curse.”

  I snorted.

  “Reflect it. And then what? Catch something even worse? No, thank you. I’m not grinding through this just so Miss Vengeful Misery decides to upgrade my suffering. Wouldn’t surprise me if next time my legs grow on backwards.”

  Drake laughed — low, genuine, clearly enjoying this far too much.

  “You’re sharper than you look, Malinka,” he admitted. “But if Weil picks someone as a target, she doesn’t stop. Best to push back early.”

  “Easy to say,” I muttered. “You’re not the one sitting here like a clay pigeon. You get to observe from a safe distance and dispense wisdom.”

  “Exactly,” he said pleasantly, sliding my notes back toward me. “But you know? Sometimes, the best way to avoid being hunted is to become the hunter. Think about it.”

  I sighed, staring at my crooked legs. Drake clearly knew what he was talking about — but wasn’t it simpler to stay as far away from Weil as possible rather than invite even more trouble?

  “What’s your magic level, anyway?” he added suddenly, eyeing me as if he already knew the answer and just wanted to hear it.

  “Red,” I muttered, looking away, hoping he’d let it go.

  Drake smirked, slow and unapologetic.

  “There you have it. With your level, you can’t remove it at all. Weil’s violet, and she put real power into this. You’d need green just to weaken it. Blue would be ideal. Red is… not even worth discussing.”

  My ears burned.

  “Thanks for the encouragement, Schafer,” I said flatly. “Incredibly helpful. I feel so much better.”

  “Well,” he said lazily, leaning back again, perfectly at ease, smiling as if he were offering a limited-time bargain, “you’re in luck. My level happens to be blue. So while I’m still here and feeling generous, my services are available.”