Cassandra stood at the edge of the training field like a phantom made of judgment. Her arms were crossed, expression blank, eyes sharp as glass.
Mira lounged next to her on a broken fence post, lazily twirling a dagger between her fingers like it was a hairpin.
Felix tripped again.
Over nothing.
"You ever think," Mira muttered, "that he might be cursed?"
"I checked," Cassandra replied softly. "Twice. Nothing supernatural. Just… Felix."
Meanwhile, the subject of their conversation was attempting to create a small protective barrier. The result looked more like a mana-formed pretzel. It buzzed. It flickered. It sizzled slightly.
Then it fell apart with a sound like an offended fart.
"Felix," I called, voice neutral. "Do you know what you just summoned?"
He looked up, hopeful. "A defensive ward?"
"No. A warning sign."
"For what?"
"For anyone nearby with common sense to run."
