The doors of Summoner-C homeroom swung open and dozens of the Year Two Summoners filed in, chatting loudly about whatever they did that morning or planned to do.
Then the chatter suddenly died.
In the exact center of the open floor space—right where Professor Halvorsen usually stood for his lectures—three figures were bound together back-to-back with thick, golden rope.
Caelem, Muskard, and Linzley.
Their wrists were lashed tight, ankles knotted, and mouths stuffed with wads of cloth that looked suspiciously like torn pieces of their own uniform.
Linzley's pigtails were tangled and frizzy, one eye twitching as she wriggled uselessly. Muskard's red arm was pinned awkwardly behind his back Caelem's handsome face was flushed beet-red, veins bulging at his temples, his lion-head pauldron hanging crooked.
For three full seconds the entire class just stared.
Then the laughter exploded.
"What the fuck is up with these losers!" a guy roared with mocking laughter.
