Cassian's POV

The hand hung in midair.

Slender fingers, fingertips smooth—no calluses from years of gripping a wand—and around the wrist, the angry red marks I'd left last night when I'd grabbed her.

I stared at that hand, my gaze slowly traveling upward until I met her eyes.

Clear. Foolish. Carrying a reckless kind of sincerity.

"Hi, I'm Iris Vance."

Her voice rang out with startling clarity in the pin-drop silent classroom.

The breathing around us stopped. I caught the sharp intake of breath from several pureblooded heirs in the back row, followed by their hushed, frantic whispers.

"Is she insane?"

"She actually approached 'that' freak…"

I looked away, my attention returning to the thick tome of parchment before me. No response. I didn't touch her hand.

Being isolated was my normal. I'd grown used to it a long time ago.

At Bliston Academy, phoenix blood wasn't a blessing—it was a curse. An aberration.

Anyone who got close to me either got burned by my flames when I lost control or got dragged down by everyone else's fear and rejection.

Last night at the West Tower, I'd just happened to be passing by.

Whatever was behind that door was extremely dangerous. I simply didn't want to find a soul-drained husk lying in the hallway—that would bring the Ministry's Aurors, disrupting my rare moments of peace.

That was all.

I didn't need friends. And I especially didn't want any connection with an ordinary human.

If she insisted on getting close, she'd end up just like me—another outcast everyone avoided in this castle.

I wasn't going to drag some defenseless fool down with me. Cold indifference was the best refusal.

She held out her hand for a full ten seconds.

I didn't look up, but I could feel her embarrassment.

Finally, she quietly withdrew her hand and turned to face forward.

Good. That was how it should be.

The oak door at the front of the classroom swung open, and Professor Green, our Fundamentals of Spellcasting instructor, strode toward the podium.

He was an incredibly rigid old man who valued bloodlines and was notoriously harsh toward non-magical students.

"Put away your useless curiosity and turn to page twelve." Professor Green rapped the blackboard, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. It paused on Iris for a second before he let out an undisguised snort.

"Bliston Academy's standards have truly hit rock bottom if someone without even a flicker of magical energy can sit in my classroom." His voice dripped with disdain, showing no concern for how humiliating this might be for a new student.

Scattered laughter rippled through the room.

My fingers paused mid-turn of a page. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the person beside me.

Her spine had gone rigid, hands clutching the hem of her robes so tightly her knuckles turned white. But she didn't argue back.

Throughout the entire class, I didn't look at her again.

I focused on the ancient runes before me, forcing myself to block out the faint but impossible-to-ignore sound of her breathing.

She listened intently, her quill scratching across parchment as she recorded every basic theory Professor Green taught.

But theory and practice were two different things.

Halfway through class, Professor Green waved his wand. Chalk began drawing a complex rune on the blackboard by itself.

"Basic Levitation Charm. Theory's done. Time for practice." Professor Green's expression was cold. "Use your magic to connect with the quill on your desk and make it float. This is the most fundamental magical control. If you can't even do this, I suggest you pack your bags and get out of Bliston Academy."

The classroom was filled with voices chanting incantations.

Several purebloods in the front easily lifted their quills into the air, even making them spin in circles. The red-haired girl's quill wobbled crookedly into the air, too.

I didn't move. This low-level charm was meaningless to me.

But Iris, sitting beside me, was in trouble.

She had no wand. She could only do as Professor Green said—try to touch the quill with her fingers, attempting to trigger what he called 'magical resonance.'

She whispered the incantation.

The quill didn't budge.

She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and tried again.

Over and over. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead, her face growing pale from intense concentration.

"Looks like our special-admission student is having a little trouble." Professor Green had somehow made his way to the back row, stopping at our desk.

He looked down at Iris from his superior height, his lips curling into a mocking smile. "Magic isn't something you can perform through rote memorization, Ms. Vance. If you don't have even a spark of magic inside you, you could scream that spell until you're hoarse and it'll still just be an ordinary feather."

The laughter around us grew louder.

"Professor, I can do this. Please, just give me a little more time." Iris's voice trembled slightly, but carried a stubborn edge.

"Time is precious." Professor Green's tone was cruel. "Forcing your mental energy to manipulate an inanimate object will only cause magical backlash. I advise you to give up."

Iris ignored him.

She closed her eyes, her fingers nearly touching the quill, lips moving rapidly as she silently recited the spell.

I frowned.

She truly had no trace of a wizard's magical energy. But in this moment, I sensed a strange power gathering at her fingertips.

The power was chaotic—like a tangled mess with no pattern—surging wildly toward that fragile quill.

The quill began trembling violently.

Not floating. Struggling to withstand the force of that power.

Fine cracks appeared along the shaft. The specially-treated magical ink inside was boiling, emitting a dangerous hissing sound.

"Stop!" Professor Green's face changed, and he stepped backward.

The quill was about to explode. Once it burst, the corrosive magical ink would spray directly into her face, destroying her eyes.

Don't get involved.

I told myself coldly.

She brought this on herself. She insisted on showing off.

Let her learn a lesson. Then she'd realize Bliston Academy wasn't where she belonged. She'd stay far away from me.

I remained seated, watching with cold detachment.

"Bang—"

The quill made a muffled sound. The shaft split completely, black ink shooting toward her face like an arrow.

Iris's eyes flew open, pupils contracting sharply. She had no time to dodge.

In that instant, my body moved before my brain could catch up.

Almost reflexively, I raised my right hand, my long fingers making a slight flicking motion in midair.

An invisible wave of scorching heat burst from my fingertips, precisely wrapping around the splattering ink.

Time seemed to freeze. Those deadly black droplets stopped less than an inch from the tip of her nose.

Then the current of air shifted slightly.

The shattered quill and suspended ink were lifted by a gentle yet irresistible force, reassembling in midair. Cracks sealed. Ink flowed back.

In the blink of an eye, a perfectly intact quill floated steadily before Iris.

The classroom fell deathly silent.

Everyone stared wide-eyed, including Professor Green.

They looked at the floating quill, then turned their horrified gazes toward me.

No one had seen how I'd intervened, but everyone knew—only I could perform a silent, instantaneous reversal of magical backlash like that.

I lowered my hand expressionlessly, sliding it back into my robe pocket.

My fingertips still tingled with residual heat from forcibly suppressing that power.

Iris stared blankly at the quill before her, then turned to look at me.

Her eyes held none of the ghost-like terror the others showed. Only shock and a faint, unmistakable gleam.

"Thank you…" she said softly, her voice barely audible to anyone but the two of us.

I looked away, fixing my gaze on the now-meaningless rune on the blackboard, my jawline tight.

An entire class of cold indifference, shattered in a single moment.

I didn't even know why I'd intervened. I'd decided to keep my distance from her. I knew that getting close to me would only make her a target.

I shouldn't have interfered.

I closed my eyes, suppressing the irritation rising in my chest, silently warning myself.

This was the last time.