The Mage Tower loomed like a polished lie. White stone, veined with glowing sigils that pulsed gently under the morning sun—soft, welcoming, civilized. The kind of place parents dreamed of sending their gifted children to. The kind of place that smiled while it bled you dry.
Henry and I crossed the tower's outer boundary and—just like that—we vanished. Not literally. Worse. We were unimportant. The wards skimmed over us like we were background noise. No alarms. No lingering gazes. No tightening of mana around our throats. To the tower, we were nothing but two low-tier apprentices with barely-formed circles and even lower expectations.
Perfect.
I tugged my cloak tighter, fingers brushing the faint ache where my mana circle sat—small, neat, restrained to a polite first circle. It felt like walking with shackles made of silk. Comfortable enough to forget. Dangerous enough to kill you if you stopped paying attention.
Henry leaned closer, voice low. "Still feeling them?"
