Days slipped by like a lie. Luna’s routine stayed the same.

  Every morning Trey stormed into the girls’ room like a giant rooster—sometimes swinging in through the window, earning a murderous look from Bridget (who slept directly beneath it). He’d march Luna to breakfast, then handed her off to Ermin on the back lawn. No more water bowls—Trey said they’d run out of intact ones. Instead Ermin’s hands produced feathers, pebbles, and whatever other small objects he’d prepared.

  Lesson One: feathers—or what Ermin called a “soft start.”

  “Focus on your breath,” he said, setting a small mound of feathers before her. “Draw the Quanta out slowly. Don’t rush it.”

  Luna inhaled. Her hands trembled over the pile. Nothing at first— then a few delicate strands stirred. Her pulse spiked—too fast.

  The feathers exploded in a soft white storm. Trey, standing conveniently downwind, took the blast full-on. He brushed fluff from his hair and shoulders and shot her a thumbs-up.

  “To the Featherwitch of Pine Hollow.”

  Francis, collecting herbs nearby, watched with a tight, assessing look. Ermin gave Trey the long-suffering stare of an exhausted father.

  “Again,” he said to Luna. Then, to Trey: “If you won’t help, then leave.”

  “What do you want—target practice?”

  “Please, Luna,” Ermin said, almost begging, “I’ll even allow an explosion this time.”

  Trey rolled his eyes and gathered the feathers into a neat pile, offering unexpectedly helpful advice. “Calm thoughts. Not feather grenades. Think… a peaceful feather. A feather that dies of old age.”

  Luna shot him a look, but this time, the feathers lifted—graceful, suspended, controlled.

  “Good. Three or four more tries, then we move to stone.”

  “If it’s stones, I’m excusing myself,” Trey said, taking a cautious step back.

  “You are not,” Ermin said flatly.

  By the next day, Luna could float three pebbles at once—and, finally, make water slosh and then whirl into a tidy little vortex.

  “Excellent,” Ermin said. “Master control first. Intensity comes later.”

  Trey clapped furiously. “Brilliant. Next— laundry! No hands on the tub. I’ll fetch the sheets.”

  Francis hooked Trey by the collar and towed him back. “Do not turn this into an opportunity.”

  Evenings belonged to Reid, who drilled Luna in the library until—by the skin of her teeth—Luna passed the written exam.

  “Marked improvement,” Reid said, studying the score sheet.

  “Genius,” Trey stage-whispered from behind. “Next time you’re doing my homework.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” Reid said.

  With the training cranked up, Luna learned to wield Quanta without detonating—an enormous step for her, and a bigger one for someone else.

  “Lu-na! Lu-na! Lu-na!”

  Elkington’s main yard buzzed. Students and staff from every house had gathered to cheer on their candidates. Pine Hollow’s benches were packed, everyone— including Blake— was waving streamers and pom-poms.

  “Lu-na! Lu-na! Lu-na!” Trey bellowed alone with alarming enthusiasm, loud enough that Luna wished the ground would swallow her. No other house was nearly this theatrical.

  He wore crisp white cotton, a blood-red tie, a dark waistcoat, black slacks, polished shoes—the works.

  “Why are you dressed like this?” Luna asked, a faint shiver prickling her neck. He bonked a tassel gently on her head.

  “Moral support, obviously. Try gratitude, Miss Sunshine.”

  “Will it help?” Reid asked dryly. Trey shrugged a who-knows, too-late-now shrug. Francis rolled his eyes and handed Luna a hastily folded paper. She opened it to find sketches of plants and notes in a script so tangled it barely qualified as writing.

  Are these… letters?

  “Herb list you can find in the forest. In case of mishaps.”

  “Th—thank you,” Luna murmured. She could not bring herself to hurt his feelings. He was Francis. If Blake could keep his mouth shut, who was she to risk it?

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to just give her your salves instead?” Trey said, plucking the sheet to attempt a read, managing only a frown.

  “That would be cheating,” Francis said, reclaiming the paper and tucking it back into Luna’s hands.

  Ermin finished conferring with the staff at the starting point and jogged over, beaming like tossing children into the woods was his favorite holiday. He lifted a brass megaphone—and turned it pointedly toward Trey’s ear.

  “Right!” he boomed. “Three tasks. One night in the forest. Be back before noon tomorrow. Miss the time, and you fail!”

  He pivoted toward the benches and flung an arm toward Luna and the girl beside her. “Pine Hollow has two candidates this year! Two! Abby Fairborne of Lavender Vales and Luna Atkins from Upperbeak—make some noise for your future housemates!”

  The bench erupted. Luna didn’t understand the fuss—every other house had four or more runners, yet none cheered this loud.

  “We usually have one at most,” Trey murmured behind his hand. “Some years, none.”

  Luna had no time to laugh. Her nerves churned. She forced a breath and glanced at the girl beside her.

  A chubby girl with round and rosy cheeks, deep brown curls tied in a ponytail, and a few wisps falling across worry-bright eyes—Abby clutched the strap of her backpack, fidgeting.

  Ermin squeezed both their shoulders and ducked to whisper, “When the flare goes— run.”

  Headmaster Garrett raised a hand, a green smoke flare hissed skyward. Candidates sprinted under the arch and into the treeline, maps flapping.

  Luna and Abby reached the forest edge—thick trunks, damp moss scenting the air, blades of grass still jeweled with last night’s dew.

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  “Ready?” Luna asked softly, tightening her straps, scanning for the first marker.

  Abby unfolded the map, peered between two crooked trees that matched the drawing, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They walked until the cheers faded to birdsong and the low hum of insects. Sunlight speared through the canopy, and the woods felt less menacing than she’d imagined.

  “Which way?” Luna squinted at the pale-inked paths. They tried right—and looped back to the same boulder.

  “Wait—did we…”

  “Yep,” Luna said, smiling when Abby laughed. They picked another route, ducking through shoulder-high ferns and sliding down a dirt slope, until—muddy to the knees—they heard water.

  A narrow stream sparkled ahead. Nearby stood a broad-shouldered staff member, hands in his pockets, maybe forty, sandy-haired, a scar running along his jaw, gray examiner’s coat with sleeves rolled to the elbows.

  “Pine Hollow, at last,” he said, a faint smile appearing. “Show me what you can do.”

  He led them to a clearing where other candidates hunched over tin pails.

  “Use Quanta to remove all debris. Don’t let the water level drop below this line. Bring it to me when it’s clear.” He gestured at two unclaimed pails.

  Luna knelt and tried lifting leaves from the water—same technique as with Ermin—but it was trickier submerged. Abby moved faster, a few precise flicks of her fingers, and her pail ran glass-clear.

  “Whoa—you’re good,” Luna said.

  “Mm. I’ve done this about four times already,” Abby admitted.

  Luna nearly dropped her leaves back in. “I’m sorry—what?”

  “I failed before,” Abby murmured, cheeks flushing. “Never made it out of my old house. First with Birch Haven, then Maple Glade, then Cedar Grove and Willow Shade. Still never learned the paths.”

  She ached to pass this time. She was sick of being the overgrown kid of Lavender Vales.

  Abby bit her lip, tapping a rhythm on her knee.

  “And I only learned what Quanta was four days ago.” Luna said. “Let’s stick together.”

  They shared a quick, wobbly laugh. Luna lifted the last pebble and carried her cleared pail over.

  “Good,” the examiner said. “Next station. Don’t spill.” He pointed up a steep cut between willows.

  Abby groaned. “Knew it would be uphill.”

  They hauled the pails along root-latticed slopes, thighs burning.

  “Same kind of tasks as last time?” Luna panted during a pause.

  “Pretty much. The stations move, though.” Abby replied.

  “Almost there.” Luna’s arms screamed, but she grinned. “Not that bad.”

  “Not—that bad?” Abby swiped sweat from her brow. “I hate heights. Last time I twisted my ankle, missed time and failed.”

  “Then start making peace with stairs. Pine Hollow’s girls live on the second floor. Daily climbs,” Luna said, hefting her pail again.

  Abby swallowed hard and nodded. At this point, she couldn’t afford to be picky. “If I twist it, leave me.”

  “I’ll drag you,” Luna said. “And figure out which herbs to slap on you—if I can read that note.”

  Abby’s smile flared, she lifted her pail and strode on.

  By late afternoon they reached a hilltop clearing. A brisk woman with gold-rimmed spectacles sat on a stump, arms folded.

  “You two will build a shelter, find food, start a fire with Quanta, and boil water to drink. Move—before dark.”

  She pointed to a stack of tarps. Other teams already had little tents standing. Abby beelined for the pile and, in a blink, set poles, threw the canvas, and lashed ropes into a tidy two-person lean-to. Luna stared.

  “Tell me again how you failed,” Luna said. Abby preened, pinking at the praise.

  “I’ll forage. You get firewood.”

  Luna gathered dry twigs. When she returned, Abby was chatting with a pair of kids at the nearby shelter. Luna set the wood, then crouched to copy the neighbors’ technique. The sticks caught a spark, they whooped and hugged Abby.

  “They’re Lavender Vales too,” Abby said, returning. “Trying for Maple Glade.”

  Luna nodded and faced their own pile. She held her hands over the sticks and drew a breath.

  A sudden splash hit, drenching the wood. Cold and heavy.

  Luna jerked back, blinking water from her lashes.

  A boy sauntered past, pail swinging lazily. “Oops. Didn’t watch my step,” he said with a smirk before heading back toward the shelter across the lane.

  “Son of a—”

  “That was intentional,” Abby whispered, panic sharpening her voice. “It’ll be dark soon. We can’t fetch more in time, Luna.” She cupped the soaked bundle and tried anyway, coaxing sparks that died on contact.

  The Maple Glade candidates hurried over and offered some of their kindling. It helped, but not enough. The wood stayed stubbornly damp.

  Luna swallowed. There was no choice now.

  She hovered her palms over the pile and closed her eyes.

  Intention and projection.

  Slow.

  Do not push.

  She breathed in and drew the Quanta out carefully, the way Ermin had drilled into her. Heat gathered in her hands. Too fast. Too familiar.

  Her palms began to sting. The air wavered.

  Abby stepped back. “Luna—”

  This is wrong.

  I feel it tipping.

  Luna cut the flow hard. The heat vanished. The half-caught flame sputtered, shrank, almost died.

  They lost precious seconds. Someone nearby cursed as another team’s fire caught clean and bright.

  Luna forced her hands to stop shaking. She started again. Slower. Smaller. Enough to dry, not burn.

  Steam lifted in thin ribbons. The sticks crackled. A flame took, steady and contained.

  Only then did she let herself breathe.

  By nightfall, fires ringed the clearing. Luna kept her hands tucked into her sleeves as Abby leaned over her shoulder to squint at Francis’s paper.

  “What does it say?”

  “I have no idea,” Luna admitted, wincing. Sorry, Francis.

  “Still sweet of him,” Abby said, tearing into rabbits over the coals. “He cares about you.”

  “Francis cares about everyone.”

  “What’s the rest of your house like?” Abby pressed, trying to gather intel—names to befriend, or avoid.

  Luna hesitated. How did one even summarize that chaos?

  “There’s Trey. Insufferable, but somehow helpful. Reid. Brilliant. Ermin—the kind housemaster. Sharp and patient. Abel cooks like a professional chef. The Bouquet siblings are absolute pranksters. And Blake.” She paused. “Huge. Tough. Loud. Very blunt.”

  She kept listing, but Abby latched onto that immediately. If she passed, she was definitely keeping her distance from Blake.

  When dawn peeled the sky open, candidates packed up and headed for the final station. Luna and Abby arrived alongside the (future) Maple Glade kids. A middle-aged examiner waited by the river, cane in hand. He pointed toward a small island midstream, then handed each of them a glass vial filled with black liquid.

  “Use Quanta to carry this to the island. You may drop it. You may not break it.”

  SMASH!

  A bottle burst mid-air nearby.

  “You. Bench,” the examiner said calmly, pointing with his cane. The boy slunk off to join the growing failure row.

  Luna and Abby exchanged a tight look and stepped to the bank. Luna’s heart hammered as her vial lifted from her palm. Abby’s drifted out first, smooth and confident.

  Halfway across, Abby’s vial wobbled.

  Luna saw it before anyone else did.

  If I rush, it will break.

  If I don’t help, hers will.

  She slid a thread of control toward Abby’s vial, easing its tremor. Her own responded with a sharp, brittle sound.

  Tick.

  A hairline crack spidered along the glass.

  Luna froze.

  Easy, Luna.

  Do not push.

  Hold. Just hold.

  She slowed her breathing until the river’s roar faded. Inch by inch, she guided both vials down. Abby’s touched the island stone first. Luna’s followed, trembling but intact.

  The examiner watched a moment longer than necessary. Then he pointed them toward the return path. “Good control. Go on.”

  They collided in a breathless hug before the examiner cleared his throat and waved them along.

  The way back felt lighter. Maybe because the fear had finally burned itself out.

  They crossed the line to a blare of horns and Pine Hollow’s thunder.

  “Congratulations to Pine Hollow—two new members!” Garrett boomed.

  Ermin actually left the ground in his excitement. Abby blushed to her ears under the attention.

  Luna scanned the crowd and found Trey—still in yesterday’s outfit, now wrinkled, hair in rebellious directions, eyes tired —but wearing a smile so proud it hurt.

  He caught her gaze and lifted a thumbs-up.

  Luna smiled back. Warmth bloomed through her chest.

  He waited for her.