We left the Mage Tower after morning lessons, blending into the stream of apprentices and junior scholars spilling into the streets. No guards. No escort. No dramatic cloaks fluttering in the wind.
I wore a plain brown mage dress, the kind that swallowed the body and made everyone look equally forgettable, with a faded cape clasped at the shoulder. My hair was braided simply, no pins, no gems. Henry looked even more ordinary—neutral-toned tunic, worn boots, a satchel slung carelessly over one shoulder. We were… painfully normal.
The carriage we hired was small and slightly crooked, pulled by a horse that looked like it had long since given up on ambition. The coachman barely glanced at us.
As we rattled through the streets, Henry leaned back and sighed loudly. "I'm telling you," he said, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard, "if you insist on buying beginner spellbooks, don't complain when your casting fizzles."
