I’d barely made it halfway down the corridor before the voice I’d been avoiding all day caught up with me.
“Mystic! Hey, wait up!”
I slowed, already knowing who it was without turning. Damon jogged to my side, his dark hair falling messily into his eyes. There was something reckless about him, like he belonged to a storm that couldn’t quite be tamed.
“What’s up, Damon?” I asked, though my tone was more tired than curious.
“Don’t play coy. I saw you leaving Elara’s office earlier. Looked intense.” His smirk didn’t reach his eyes, which were sharp and probing. “Care to share with the class?”
“No,” I said flatly. “And you’re not a class.”
“Still snarky, I see.” He fell into step beside me, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Come on, Mystic. We both know Elara doesn’t hand out warnings
