"He knows we can't coordinate without the group chat," Rhett continued, running a hand through his hair. "He's isolating the packs. Segmenting the population. It's classic siege tactics."
"We could use telepathy," Stone suggested.
The former Captain of the Guard was sitting on a crate of un-catalogued swords, polishing his badge with a level of dedication that was frankly concerning. He had officially "lost" his radio somewhere in the duck pond earlier that morning, a subtle mutiny that had cost him his uniform jacket.
"Telepathy gives me a headache," Ivy pouted, tossing her phone onto a pile of silk pillows she had summoned. "And it doesn't have emojis. How am I supposed to convey sarcasm without the rolling-eyes emoji? It’s a vital linguistic tool!"
"This isn't a siege," I realized, looking at the email again. "It's a timeout. He's treating us like misbehaving toddlers."
I looked around the room. My Triad. My friends. My weird, dysfunctional, powerful family.
"He thinks if he takes away our toys, we'll calm down," I said. "He thinks if he feeds us oatmeal, we'll lose our will to fight."
"Then we act like toddlers," Kai said.
I looked at the Earth Elemental. He was leaning against a wall of moss he had accidentally grown, holding a bag of seeds he probably shouldn't have had. A slow, wicked grin was spreading across his face—the kind of grin that usually preceded a geological event.
"Toddlers with access to high-level transmutation magic," Kai clarified.
I grinned back. "I think it's time for a playdate."
The "War" began at noon.
It started at the North Gate, the main entrance to the Science Quad. This was a strategic choke point, and Marrow knew it. He had stationed six of his "Elite" Enforcers there—the zombie-thralls who didn't blink and smelled like wet cardboard.
They stood in a formidable line, arms crossed, sunglasses on, blocking the path.
"No entry," the lead Enforcer droned. His voice was flat, devoid of inflection. "Dean's orders. Turn back."
"Or what?" Ivy asked, stepping out from behind a rhododendron bush.
She was wearing a trench coat, sunglasses, and a fedora. She looked like a noir detective who had been dressed by a drag queen.
"Or you will be detained," the Enforcer said.
"That sounds boring," Ivy yawned. "I have a better idea. How about... a fashion malfunction?"
She snapped her fingers.
It was a small spell. A tiny, insignificant hex usually reserved for high school bullies.
Elasticus Snapicus.
Simultaneously, the belts, suspenders, and elastic waistbands of all six Enforcers failed.
Gravity, as it turns out, is the great equalizer.
pants dropped.
All six of them. In perfect unison.
Revealing...
"Heart boxers?" I whispered from my hiding spot in the tree above. "Really?"
"Standard issue," Stone whispered back, sounding mortified. "It was a budget cut decision. We don't talk about it."
The Enforcers froze. Their programming clearly didn't cover "pantsing." They struggled to pull up their trousers while maintaining their menacing posture, which resulted in a sort of aggressive waddle.
