Miri's Pov
The smell of smoke was becoming far too familiar.
I coughed, waving away the thin tendrils curling up from the desk in front of me. The wood was blackened again—splintered at the edges where my flame had leapt higher than it was supposed to. All I'd been meant to do was create a steady flicker. Simple. A beginner's exercise. Something I'd been able to do half-asleep since I was seven.
But instead, my magic had surged the moment I'd called to it, rushing to my hands like it was desperate to escape. The little flicker had exploded into a hungry burst, and the desk had paid for it. Again.
Professor Adira's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't scold me. That was worse.
"This is the third time this week, Miri," she said quietly, glancing to the charred mess. "Take a different seat. I'll call maintenance."