Elowen

By the time the taxi crawled to a stop in front of the massive wrought-iron gates of Belmont Academy, my anger toward Zephyr had metastasized. It was no longer a hot, impulsive reaction; it had cooled into something structured, patient, and deeply calculated. A refined, low-simmering loathing. The kind that whispered, "Don’t just break something of his. Wait and when it's time, make it hurt."

I handed the driver my remaining cash, leaving my wallet completely hollow, and stepped out onto the pavement. I hitched the strap of my backpack higher on my shoulder, took one look at the campus ahead of me, and completely forgot to breathe. Oh...