Page 43 of Magical Mission

Thank, Academy.

“Alright then,” I muttered, tucking the stack under my arm.

My dad grunted at my feet, clearly unimpressed by the early hour or the lack of breakfast.

“I know,” I whispered, rubbing behind his ear. “But this is headmistress stuff. Very serious.”

He blinked at me with the expression of a creature who had seen far too much to be impressed by administrative duties.

I made my way down the main corridor as I moved through the hushed stillness of the waking Academy.

The sun had barely begun to rise. Just a faint glow over the courtyard windows. It was the kind of early morning that felt like it didn’t belong to anyone yet.

Minus the gentle tick of the clock on the wall and a couple of house sprites sweeping beneath the long dining tables, the dining hall was empty.

I set the stack down on the largest round table and pulled up a chair.

I looked down to see each schedule personalized with their name, magical category, elective preference, and instructor notes. I skimmed the top few with a furrowed brow.

Someone had clipped a note on Mara’s with the words,May challenge instructors to duels. Proceed with caution.

Another had a note for Opal that simply read,Allow for extra quiet time.

It made me realize just how much the Academy and Stonewick knew about us before we even knew ourselves.

I smiled despite myself and started arranging them into piles by wing, appreciating the silence as I worked.

It felt good to do something practical and nice to have my hands busy while my thoughts twisted quietly.

I’d slept restlessly, no doubt, and the dream, what little I remembered of it, had left a residue. Something unspoken that refused to shake loose, but I’d become accustomed to that feeling in recent months.

Beneath all the order and calm of the morning, I still felt the tight wire of unease humming just beneath my skin.

The one calledGideon.

I let out a sigh and didn’t look up when I heard footsteps behind me.

Only one person in this building moved like magic and smelled of cinnamon.

“Stella,” I said without turning. “You’re up early.”

She set a mug down beside my elbow. “I’m always up early. It’s why the tea shop suits me. I made some fresh for you.”

I looked at the tea, steaming and fragrant. It smelled of lavender and lemon balm with a touch of clove.

“You’re too good to me.”

“I know,” she said, sliding into the chair across from me.

We sat for a minute, both staring at the stacks of papers.

“You ready for this?” Her eyes twinkled as she took a slow sip from her cup, then glanced at me.

“Would it matter if I weren’t?”

“Nope.” She popped her lips with scarlet lip liner, and I laughed.

And she waited.