Harlan's smirk twisted into something uglier—surprise curdling into rage. He hadn't expected the mud-blood to land a hit. His ribs throbbed where her stone fist had connected; the scorch mark on his blazer was an insult he couldn't ignore.
"You little—" he snarled, wand slashing upward. "Ember Cloak—full flare!"
Flames roared to life around his body—thicker now, hotter, a blazing second skin that scorched the concrete black wherever his feet touched. The heat wave rolled outward, forcing Mee to stagger back, ponytail whipping across her sweat-slick face. Her uniform blouse was singed at the edges; small blisters rose on her forearms.
The crowd leaned forward—commoners gripping the railings, nobles smirking again.
"She's done," one noble girl whispered.
