This is Definitely Torture.

I moved across the attic, my boots echoing on the wide, hollow floorboards. The place was huge, bigger than any house I’d ever set foot in, bigger than most barns back in the scrub lands. Dust layered everything: the rafters, the cracked beams, the corners where cobwebs hung like lace. And yet… I could see it. With a bit of magic, just a flicker of light here, some polish there, a charm to scrub out the stink of mildew and male armpits, it could almost be beautiful.

Almost. As I wandered, something caught my eye near the far wall: a faint glow, just a sliver, breaking through the floorboards. I crouched, running my fingers along the seam until I found it: a little plate of metal wedged between boards. With a tug, it scraped back, and I sucked in a sharp breath, an air vent. Although small and narrow, it looked directly down into the dorm below.

I pressed my face closer, grinning when I saw the blurry outline of a student stuffing books and clothes into a bag. He moved quickly, muttering to himself, completely oblivious. I leaned back, scanning the attic floor, and my grin stretched wider. More vents. Dozens of them, scattered all along the length of the floor.

“Well, hello, magic supply,” I murmured to myself.

I bent low again, focusing on the boy below. That hum of energy, raw, careless, unguarded, buzzed through the vent like a live wire. I reached for it without thinking, tugging just enough to taste. The power slid into me smoothly and warmly, sparking against my skin. Just a sip. Just enough to make me hum with it. He wouldn’t even notice it was gone. By the time he left the room, his reserves would refill, and I’d have had my fill. I sat back on my heels, heart racing, lips curling into a secret smile. Yeah, this attic might stink of dust and disuse, but it came with one hell of a perk.

I slid the vent back into place with a little scrape of metal on wood, then leaned back on my heels. Humming softly, I whispered the words of an old spell I’d come across once, tucked away in a book no one thought I’d read. The air around me shivered as the magic sank into the beams and walls, sealing the attic tight. No sound in, no sound out. A nifty trick. One that had helped me more times than I could count. I stood, brushing dust from my hands, and raised my palm. With another breath, I let the borrowed magic spill outward, sweeping across the floor in a sharp gust. Dust whirled up, then vanished, leaving the wide planks shining dully. I crossed to the massive stained-glass window and pressed my hand against the cold glass. The grime dissolved under my touch, colours bursting clearer and brighter until the morning sun poured through, scattering red and blue patterns across the floor. For a moment, I just stood there in the light, chest rising, magic humming faintly in my veins.

I probed myself quietly, testing the pull. There was still a little left, a neat stash tucked inside me. Enough to count if I needed it. Best to save the rest. Never knew when the next fight or flight might come. With a sigh, I turned to the far side of the attic. The wardrobe crouched there, cracked and lopsided but buzzing faintly with enchantment. My fingers brushed its handle, and a warm spark crawled over my skin. Enchanted. Of course it was. I pulled the door open and immediately wished I hadn’t. Inside hung the uniform.

I groaned aloud, dragging a hand over my face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The outfit looked like it had been designed by someone who’d never had to run for their life in their damn life: a tiny black pleated skirt that would barely cover my ass, thigh-high white socks that screamed look at me, a stiff white button-up shirt that looked two sizes too small, and a little blazer with silver embroidery that seemed designed to choke me with formality. And to top it all off, black heels. Actual heels.

I held the hanger up, glaring at it like maybe it would spontaneously combust.

“Yep,” I muttered. “This school wants to torture me.”

After wrestling myself into the ridiculous excuse for a uniform and shoving my legs into those thigh-high socks, I slung the satchel bag I found in the wardrobe over my shoulder. It smelled faintly of mothballs and dust, but at least it was sturdy enough to hold a few books, or a brick, if I needed one. With my shiny new humiliation complete, I took the magical map in hand and headed down the winding attic staircase. The moment I stepped back into the dorm hall, I regretted it. The stares came instantly. Not the same curious or mocking ones as before, these were different. Heavy. Lingering. Hungry. Shifters leaned out of their doorways, golden eyes gleaming as they tracked me. Warlocks paused mid-conversation, lips curling into smirks. Even the fae among them tilted their heads in that predatory, assessing way that made my skin crawl. Heat crept up my neck. My fists clenched at my sides, but I forced myself to keep moving. I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder and let my long black hair tumble forward, curtaining my face. My eyes stayed glued to the map in my hands, as if the glowing lines and shifting symbols were the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen. One step, then another, down the length of the dorm, through the wide common area, past the wolf whistles and murmurs.

“Roommate material?” someone muttered.

“She won’t last a week,” another said, low and eager.

I pressed my lips together, pretended not to hear, and kept walking. The map glowed faintly, guiding me through twisting halls and down marble staircases until the heading sharpened in golden light: Intro to Arcane Theory — Lecture Hall A. I blew out a breath, bracing myself. First class. First test. And already, I hated everything about this place.