The cafeteria buzzed with noise—students laughing, trays clattering, the low hum of lunchtime chatter. Oswald sat at the edge of a table, poking at his food, trying to act normal. His body still felt electric, his thoughts faster, sharper than ever.
But then it happened.
A prickle ran down the back of his neck, sharp as a knife. His heart skipped a beat. It wasn't just someone looking at him—it was someone focusing on him. Anger. Determination. Magic.
Oswald slowly lifted his head. Across the crowded cafeteria, his gaze swept the room with uncanny precision. Then he found her.
Lyra.
She stood by the far doorway, her silver-streaked hair catching the light, her eyes locked on him like twin blades. She wasn't casting a spell, but her anger rolled off her in waves he could almost feel in his bones.
His chest tightened. He had never "felt" someone looking at him before. But now he could sense her emotions—the pulse of her magic simmering just under the surface. It felt like heat, like a storm held barely in check.
She's here, he thought, his fork clattering softly against the tray. She's watching me.
Lyra's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. She didn't move toward him. Not yet. But her presence was a warning. She knew what he had done. She had felt his power last night. And she wasn't alone anymore—two other students hovered behind her, whispering.
Oswald's palms began to sweat. His heart rate spiked, but his body remained eerily calm. The hum in his chest deepened, a low vibration like a growl, as if something inside him was responding to her.
He tore his gaze away, staring down at his lunch. Stay calm. Pretend everything's normal.
But even as he told himself that, he knew—this was only the beginning. Lyra wasn't here to talk. She was here to judge. And maybe to strike.