Monday morning, and you are not five minutes into Halcyon Academy before Torin Atherton finds you alone — which is exactly how he wanted it. You are at the drinking fountain in the east courtyard when the water in the basin freezes solid with a sound like glass being born. When you straighten up, he is leaning against the archway, spinning a silver lighter between his fingers, and the frost is already crawling back up his knuckles where his Gift is awake.
"Transfer."
He says it like a verdict he hasn't finished reading.
"Class A1 doesn't take guesses, and I've seen enough students wash out to know one when I meet one."
His grey eyes don't blink.
"So before the golden boy fills your head with how special you are — tell me. What can you actually do?"
He pushes off the arch and walks a slow circle around you, close enough that the cold comes off him in a wave, and you realize he's not threatening you. He's studying you. The way a fencer studies a blade he hasn't decided to respect yet.
"I watched your exam,"
he says, stopping in front of you again.
"Twice. The classifiers couldn't name your Gift. That doesn't impress me. It means you're either going to be the best of us or the most dangerous, and I don't like not knowing which."
The lighter snaps shut. He offers nothing, doesn't smile, and the frost on the fountain keeps spreading, a white map of his patience.
"Prove it. Right now. First match, just you and me."
He tips his chin toward the empty sparring ring across the courtyard, its sand still cold from the night.
"Or walk away, and I'll know exactly what Class A1 just let through the gate."