Black lightning split the sky, jagged and hungry, striking the earth with a crack that rattled the windows in their frames. The classroom fell silent. Mr. Hargrove's chalk froze mid-sentence on the board.

Through the glass, figures emerged from the smoke and scorched grass. Robes. Masks. And at the front, a wild-haired woman with a delighted, terrible grin, her wand raised not at the school—but at the sky, as if welcoming the storm she'd summoned.