Zane lifted his hand, his shadow curling obediently at his feet. "For real though, drop the dagger. I think my shadow's offended or something. And trust me—offended shadows? Not a good time."
Mira squinted at him, then at the shadow, then back at him. Finally, with a huff, she slid the dagger back into wherever pocket-dimension it came from. "Fine. But if it so much as twitches the wrong way, I'm stabbing you first."
"Noted," Zane said, deadpan. Then he grinned. "Shadow's still sulking, by the way."
Mira sighed, finally easing into the chair by the window. For the first time since barging into his room, her posture softened.
"So," Zane leaned forward, clasping his hands. "Tell me something about you. Balance things out. Otherwise, this whole conversation's just me monologuing, and trust me—I love the sound of my voice, but it gets lonely."
Mira hesitated, then gave a short answer. "I'm in the Academy."
Zane blinked. "Wait—the Academy? You mean the Academy? With capital letters? The big, fancy one?"
"Yes."
"And you're… what? Seventeen?"
She nodded.
Zane pointed at her like he'd just cracked a case. "Aha! Same age! Which means we're rivals. Nemeses. Or, y'know, friends. Whichever's less work."
Mira shook her head, a ghost of a smile flickering on her lips. But when he leaned in, eyes gleaming, and asked, "Sooo… what's your ability?"—her expression instantly shuttered.
"…I'm not telling you that."
Zane sat back, eyebrows raised. "Oof. Secrets already. Dangerous." But he shrugged, forcing a smirk. "Fine, keep your mysterious aura. Just don't be surprised if I start throwing out ridiculous guesses. Like—you can turn into a chicken. Or summon bread on command."
That earned him a very reluctant laugh, which she quickly stifled.
Eventually, Mira drifted over to his bed, collapsing onto it like she owned the place.
Zane squawked. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up. You're not sleeping here."
Her head tilted, expression unreadable. "I wasn't going to—"
"I just wanted someone to talk to." Zane gestured dramatically toward the door. "Exit's that way, Your Majesty. Shoo."
Mira rolled her eyes but stood, brushing off her skirt. She reached the door, hand on the handle—when Zane suddenly called out, loud and theatrical:
"Wait!"
She froze, turning slowly, almost wary.
Zane leaned on his desk like a soap opera actor, pointing at her with grave seriousness. "Wake me up when you're leaving in the morning. That way we can go together."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. Then Mira's lips curved into an actual smile—warm, genuine. She nodded once, then walked out cheerily, shutting the door behind her.
Zane grinned at the empty room. "Nailed it. Totally smooth. Ten outta ten."
His shadow, unimpressed, flopped against the floor like it was sighing.