You'd made it. Barely.

The train ride had been a blur of anxiety, your fingers twisting in your lap as you rehearsed what you'd say to your new classmates. Your telegram from the higher-ups had been brief, almost dismissive. Low grade sorcerer. Acceptable potential. Instruct accordingly.

A low grade. You'd read the words so many times the paper had gone soft at the creases.

He jumped down, landing in front of you with barely a sound. Up close, his eyes were startling—a blue so pale they looked almost white, framed by those ridiculous sunglasses pushed up into his hair.