"Easier said than done," I murmured.
"Is it?" Kai challenged.
8
The Northcrest cafeteria was usually a cacophony of tray-clattering, shouted spells, and the general roar of five hundred magical students trying to caffeinate themselves before their 8 AMs.
But today, as I walked in with the Triad flanking me like a royal guard, the noise level dropped significantly.
"They're staring," Kai whispered, grabbing three apples from a bowl.
"Of course they're staring," Rhett grunted. "We caused a scene at the Registry. Rumor has it I barked at the Dean."
"You did bark at the Dean," Lucien corrected calmly. "It was quite resonant."
We made our way to our usual table in the back corner. The mood on campus had shifted since the Registry began. The lines were being drawn. Students who had registered wore little green lapel pins—Marrow’s "Mark of Compliance." Students who hadn't (like us) were getting side-eyed.
"Pins," Ivy muttered, slamming her tray down next to mine. "He's giving out pins. It's so pedestrian. If I'm going to join a cult, I want a robe."
"It's not a cult, Ivy," Stone’s deep voice rumbled from behind us.
Ivy jumped, nearly knocking over her latte. Stone stood there, holding a black coffee and looking uncomfortable in the sea of students.
"You're stalking me," Ivy accused, pointing a spoon at him. "Admit it. You're obsessed with my chaos."
"I am observing," Stone corrected, his gaze lingering on her neon-green mesh top. "And ensuring you don't start a food fight with telekinesis like you did on Tuesday."
"That bagel had it coming," Ivy sniffed.
Before Stone could respond, a hush fell over the room. A different kind of hush. Not the fearful silence that greeted the Dean, or the awed silence that followed the Triad.
This was the silence of a shark entering the water.
Amelia Vance walked in.
Or rather, she tried to walk in.
Usually, Amelia commanded the room. She was the Queen Bee of Moonstone Hall, the girl who could ruin your social life with a single raised eyebrow. She always walked with a phalanx of minions—girls who laughed at her jokes and carried her bags.
Today, she was alone.
She was wearing last season's coat. Her signature designer bag was missing, replaced by a generic canvas tote. And her head was held high, but her eyes were darting around nervously.
She walked toward her usual table—the prime spot by the window.
It was occupied.
Her former best friends—Chloe and Sarah—were sitting there. They didn't move as Amelia approached. They didn't smile.
"Excuse me," Amelia said, her voice tight. "You're in my seat."
Chloe, a petite Shifter with a mean streak a mile wide, looked up. She glanced at the empty chair, then at Amelia.
"I don't think so," Chloe said loudly. The cafeteria went dead silent. "This table is for students in Good Standing."
Amelia faltered. "What?"
"We heard about your parents, Amelia," Sarah added, inspecting her nails. "Arrested for domestic terrorism? Funding the Brotherhood? That's... embarrassing. Dean Marrow said we shouldn't associate with 'Radical Elements'."
