The Guy Who Dismissed Me First Is Now Desperate For Me

The coffee shop smells like cinnamon and burnt milk and honestly it's the warmest thing about Millhaven so far.

I've been in this corner for twenty minutes with a book open in front of me that I stopped actually reading about nineteen minutes ago. Old habit. New place means new people and new people mean new dynamics and I like understanding the dynamics before I walk into them headfirst.

My name is Veyra Calladine. I'm eighteen, I just moved to this town for school, and I have never once in my entire life felt my magic.

Not a flicker. Not a spark. Nothing.

Every kid in my old community back in Vermont had something by the time they hit twelve. My neighbour used to sneeze and set her curtains on fire. My dad's friend could read emotional residue off objects just by holding them. Me? Eighteen years of absolutely nothing, which is a fantastic confidence booster as you can imagine, especially heading into Northveil Academy, the most competitive supernatural boarding school in the country.

My father said I am a late bloomer.

I take a slow sip of coffee and tell myself I'm not spiralling.

I'm definitely a little bit spiralling.

The bell above the door jangles and cold air rushes in and I glance up automatically, the way you do, and then I don't glance back down because four boys just walked in and one of them has the kind of presence that makes a room quietly rearrange itself without anyone announcing it.

Tall. Dark jacket. Jaw like it was put there specifically to cause problems. He moves like he's never once had to excuse himself for taking up space, easy and unhurried, already scanning the shop the way someone does when they're used to having their pick of everything in it.

His eyes land on my table.

Then on me.

I raise my eyebrows slightly and go back to my book.

"You're in my seat."

I look up again. He's standing in front of my table now, hands in his pockets, looking at me with this expression that sits somewhere between bored and mildly inconvenienced, like I'm a wet umbrella someone left in the wrong spot.

I glance around the shop slowly and deliberately and count. Six empty tables. At least.

"There are six empty tables," I point out.

"And yet, you're at my particular table," he replies.

I stare at him. "Are you actually serious right now?"

The broad-shouldered one behind him makes a noise that starts as a laugh and gets hastily converted into a cough. The tall one doesn't react.

"You're new," he says, looking me over once in that same assessing way, quick and thorough, like he's calculating something and not particularly impressed with the result.

"Transfer," I confirm. "Northveil."

Something moves across his face. "Ember House?"

I don't answer that. Partly because yes, and partly because I'd like to know how he guessed, and guessed right just like that, before I decide how much that information costs me.

He smiles, and it's the kind of smile that doesn't reach anywhere. "Figured."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"Means you look like someone who hasn't woken up yet." He pulls out the chair across from me and drops into it without being invited, his friends spreading through the shop behind him like this was always the plan. "Northveil's going to eat you alive, new girl."

My face goes warm. I genuinely hate that it does.

"You don't know anything about me," I reply.

"I know Ember House," he says, utterly unbothered, already signalling to the girl behind the counter like this is his personal living room. "Placeholder kids. Might develop something useful, might not. No offence."

"That was entirely offence."

He shrugs.

I start gathering my things because I am two seconds from saying something I absolutely cannot take back and I promised myself, I really genuinely promised myself, not to combust before my fresh start even properly starts.

"Running already?" he murmurs, not even glancing at me.

Ugh!

I stop.

Turn back around.

"What is your actual problem with me?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel, which is a minor miracle. "You don't know me. You've never met me before in your life. I was sitting here minding my own business and you walked in and decided to be horrible to a complete stranger for no reason. Why?"

He looks at me then, fully, and for one single second something flickers behind those grey eyes that I can't quite read.

Then it closes off.

"Not horrible," he says evenly. "Honest. There's a difference. Girls who don't know what they are don't last at Northveil. You'll figure that out quickly or you won't figure out anything at all."

My throat tightens. I refuse to let it show anywhere on my face.

"Wow." I tilt my head slightly. "Is that the pep talk you give everyone or am I just special?"

The broad-shouldered one behind him makes that cough-laugh sound again, louder this time.

The tall one's jaw shifts, just slightly.

"Rhydan," the broad-shouldered one says carefully, a note of warning underneath it.

Rhydan. Okay. Noted.

He holds my gaze for one more moment, then stands, unhurried, picks up his bag, and I realise he was never going to order anything. He came over here specifically for this. For whatever this was.

"Good luck," he says, and it sounds like the complete opposite of that, and then he's gone, all four of them out the door and back into the grey Millhaven morning like they were never here.

The coffee shop feels weirdly loud again.

I sit back down because my legs aren't entirely reliable right now and I stare at my cold coffee and breathe slowly through my nose.

My phone vibrates on the table.

Petra.

One week til Northveil!! Are you excited or are you lying to yourself again?

I almost laugh out loud.

Just met someone horrible, I type back. Also I think I might be terrified.

Her reply comes in four seconds flat. SAME HONESTLY. See you there. Don't let the horrible ones win.

I put my phone face down and look at the door where Rhydan and his friends disappeared.

Don't let the horrible ones win.

I pick up my coffee.

I'm going to survive Northveil Academy if it kills me.

And if Rhydan Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is happens to be there when I do, that's fine.

I've survived worse than boys who think they can read you in thirty seconds.

Probably.