Lunch hour hit like a wave of noise and perfume. The central courtyard of Faudervolt was packed. Tables under blooming crystal vines. Mages laughing over glowing plates of spiced fruit and mana-infused bread. I found my usual spot at the far edge. A stone bench half-hidden by a low hedge. No one sat near me unless they had to. Which was perfect. I liked the quiet. I liked watching them from the shadows.
My tray was simple. Bread. Some cheese. A bowl of stew that was mostly broth because the kitchen always skimped on portions for the supporters. I sat down carefully. The bench creaked under my weight. My ass spread wide across the stone. Thighs pressed together tight. I could feel the dampness from earlier still lingering between my legs. It made every shift uncomfortable. And strangely good.
I ate slow. Eyes scanning the crowd. Stellite was at the center table. Surrounded by her usual pack. Delan lounging next to her. His arm draped casual over the back of her chair. She laughed at something he said. Head thrown back. Silver hair catching the light. Everyone watched her like she was the sun.
I hated how my stomach twisted. Not just jealousy. Something darker. Hotter. I imagined walking over there. Grabbing her by that perfect throat. Pushing her down onto the table. Spreading my legs right over her face while the whole courtyard watched. Making her tongue work until her mascara ran and her voice broke begging for air. Making Delan watch. Making him hard. Making him hate himself for wanting it.
My spoon paused halfway to my mouth. Heat rushed to my cheeks. And lower. I pressed my thighs together harder. Friction sparked again. Small. Secret.
Then I saw him.
Not close. Not obvious. Just a glimpse across the courtyard.
Tall. Graceful. Dark hair falling over one eye. Earth affinity robes in deep green. He was standing near a pillar. Not eating. Not talking. Just... looking. In my direction.
Our eyes met for half a second.
He looked away fast. Too fast.
My heart thudded stupid and loud.
I didn't know his name. Or I did. Maybe. Mel something. He was in a few of the same lectures. Always quiet. Always in the back row like me. But cleaner. Prettier. The kind of pretty that made people whisper.
I stared at my stew. Suddenly not hungry.
The note in my bra felt heavier now. Warm against my skin. I slipped my hand under the table. Pressed my palm flat over my stomach. Felt the soft give of it. The way it folded. The way sweat made my robe stick there too.
Your weight is power.
I whispered the words inside my head again.
Power.
I looked up. He was gone. Vanished into the crowd like smoke.
But the feeling stayed. That tiny spark of maybe. Someone saw. Someone really saw.
A shadow fell over my tray.
I flinched.
Stellite stood there. Hands on hips. Delan and two others behind her. All smiling the same cruel smile.
"Shitcake eating alone again?" she said. Voice sweet poison. "Must be hard fitting all that onto one bench."
They laughed.
I didn't look up. Kept staring at the stew.
She leaned down. Close enough that her breath brushed my ear. Mint again. Cold. Perfect.
"You know," she whispered, "if you keep sitting like that your ass is going to swallow the bench one day. Maybe we should help. Push you off. See if you bounce."
More laughter.
My hands shook on the tray.
Inside my head the fantasy shifted. Faster. Darker.
I pictured standing up. Grabbing her wrist. Twisting until she gasped. Forcing her to her knees right here. In front of everyone. Lifting my robe. Pressing her face into the damp heat between my thighs. Making her inhale deep while the courtyard went silent. Making Delan freeze. Making them all see what power really looked like.
My clit throbbed at the thought.
I squeezed my legs so hard it hurt.
Stellite straightened. "Pathetic."
She turned to leave. Her friends followed.
But one of them dropped something. Small. A folded paper. It fluttered down. Landed right on my tray. Next to the bread.
They kept walking. Didn't look back.
I stared at it.
Heart pounding.
I picked it up. Fingers trembling.
Same cream paper. Same neat handwriting.
*They laugh because they're scared of what you could become.
Don't hide the fire. Let it burn them.
You're not garbage. You're a storm waiting.
—Someone who can't stop thinking about you*
I pressed the paper to my lips. Hard.
Tasted salt from my own sweat on my fingers.
The courtyard noise faded.
All I could hear was my breathing. Fast. Heavy.
And the slow wet pulse between my legs.
I folded the note. Slipped it into my bra with the first one. Right against my nipple. Felt it harden under the pressure.
Lunch was almost over.
I stood up. Slow. Let my robe fall back into place over my curves.
Walked past their table.
Didn't look at Stellite.
But I felt her eyes on me.
For the first time.
It felt good.
Like the beginning of something.
Something savage.