Chapter 2
1902 Words
ELOWEN
I wake up before my alarm, which is ridiculous because I barely slept. My brain spent the whole night replaying every possible version of today’s interview—most of them ending with me being politely rejected for the third time.
And today is my last shot.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting the familiar anxiety settle in my chest. It’s not new. It’s been there since the first time Strain Pharmaceuticals emailed me back with a “We regret to inform you…”
I exhale slowly and sit up.
I graduated early. I took every advanced course I could. I finished my PharmD faster than anyone in my year. I should be confident. I should feel like I belong in a place like Strain.
But every time I step into that building, something inside me tightens—like they can sense the part of me I’ve spent my whole life trying to bury.
The dark magic.
The inheritance I never asked for.
I shake the thought away. No. I’m not my mother. I’m not Morwenna. I’m not anything like her.
I’m just… Elowen.
A girl who wants a normal life.
A girl who wants to work in pharmaceuticals, not magic.
A soft knock hits my bedroom door.
“El? You awake?” Rachel’s voice is muffled but bright, like it always is.
“Yeah,” I call back. “Come in.”
She pushes the door open with her hip, holding two travel mugs. Her blonde hair is in a messy bun, and she’s wearing mismatched socks. She looks like sunshine and chaos, which is exactly how she’s been since the day she decided we were going to be friends.
I didn’t plan on making friends in university. I didn’t plan on letting anyone close. But Rachel Spears didn’t care about my plans. She sat beside me in class, talked at me until I talked back, and somehow became the only person I trust.
She hands me a mug. “Extra strong. You’ll need it.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip. It’s perfect. She knows me too well.
Rachel sits on the edge of my bed, studying my face. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You’re absolutely spiraling.”
I sigh. “It’s just… if they reject me again, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You’ll apply somewhere else.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It has to be Strain.”
She frowns. “El, you didn’t even make backup plans.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Because Strain Pharmaceuticals is the only place where I can learn the kind of pharmacological research I want. Because their facilities are unmatched. Because their internship program is the best in the country.
Because their magic‑infused research is the closest thing to understanding what I am—without actually stepping into the witch world.
But I can’t tell Rachel that.
So I just say, “It’s the only place that fits.”
She studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Okay. Then we’re getting you in.”
I wish I had her confidence.
Rachel already secured her internship at a small pharmaceutical company half an hour away. She starts next month. She’s excited. She deserves to be.
I’m proud of her.
I’m also terrified of being left behind.
I get dressed slowly—black slacks, a soft cream blouse, my hair pulled into a neat low ponytail. Professional. Polished. Forgettable. That’s the goal.
I don’t want anyone looking too closely at me.
When I step into the kitchen, Rachel whistles. “Damn. If they don’t hire you, they’re blind.”
I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at my lips. “Let’s hope they’re not.”
We leave the apartment and take the metro toward downtown Montreal. The city is alive already—cars honking, people rushing, the smell of coffee and rain in the air. I try to focus on the normalcy of it all.
Normal.
Human.
Safe.
Strain Pharmaceuticals’ Montreal branch is a sleek glass building that looks like it belongs in a sci‑fi movie. Every time I walk toward it, my stomach twists.
Today is worse.
Because today, it’s not just the hiring manager interviewing me.
Today, Erika Strain herself is waiting.
I still can’t believe she responded to my email. I wrote it three nights ago, desperate and honest, explaining why I wanted the internship, why I believed I belonged there. I didn’t expect anything.
But the next morning, I got an interview request.
Rachel nudges me as we approach the entrance. “You’ve got this.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe it.
Inside, the receptionist leads me to a conference room. My palms are sweating. My heart is racing. I smooth my blouse and take a steadying breath.
The door opens.
Erika Strain walks in first—elegant, composed, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. She looks exactly like the kind of woman who runs a pharmaceutical empire and a witch lineage at the same time.
But she’s not alone.
A man steps in behind her.
He’s tall. Broad‑shouldered. Dark hair. Storm‑grey eyes that look like they haven’t known softness in years. He’s around my age, maybe a little older, and he carries himself like someone who’s used to being obeyed.
He looks bored.
And fierce.
And like smiling is a crime punishable by death!
I instantly dislike him.
Grumpy brat.
Erika gestures to the chairs. “Elowen, thank you for coming.”
I sit. The man sits across from me, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.
Great.
Just what I needed.
An audience.
Erika smiles politely. “Let’s begin.”
**
Erika folds her hands on the table, posture perfect, expression unreadable. I’ve seen her in interviews online—confident, brilliant, intimidating in a way that makes you want to sit up straighter. Seeing her in person is worse. She radiates authority.
The man beside her radiates… irritation. Or boredom. Or both.
Erika glances at him briefly, then back at me. “Elowen, I reviewed your application again last night. Your academic record is impressive.”
My heart lifts a little. “Thank you.”
“But,” she continues, “grades aren’t everything.”
I knew that. I still feel the sting.
I nod. “I understand.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You’ve applied twice before.”
“Yes.”
“And you were declined twice.”
A reminder I didn’t need, but sure. Twist the knife.
“Yes,” I say again, keeping my voice steady.
“Why come back a third time?”
Because I’m stubborn. Because I don’t know how to want anything else. Because something in me pulls toward this place like gravity.
But I can’t say any of that.
So I answer honestly, but safely. “Because this is where I want to build my career. I know what Strain stands for. I know the kind of research you do. I want to be part of it.”
Erika studies me like she’s peeling back layers. “And if we decline you again?”
My stomach knots. “Then I’ll… figure something out.”
It’s a lie. I won’t. I have no backup plan. I didn’t even pretend to make one.
The man across from me shifts slightly, arms still crossed. His eyes flick to me, then away, like he’s assessing something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
Erika taps a pen lightly against the table. “Tell me about your PharmD. You finished early.”
“I took heavier course loads,” I say. “And summer terms. I wanted to move forward as quickly as possible.”
“Why?”
Because the longer I stayed in school, the harder it became to hide what I am. Because magic has a way of slipping through cracks when you’re stressed or tired or scared.
But again, I can’t say that.
“I like to work,” I answer simply.
Erika’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “And your internship requirement? You still need to complete your supervised year.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m here.”
“And your PEBC exam?”
“I’m scheduled for the next cycle.”
She nods slowly, absorbing everything. Her gaze flicks to the man again. He hasn’t said a word. He hasn’t even introduced himself. He just sits there, silent and intense, like he’s judging my soul.
I glance at him briefly. He meets my eyes for half a second—just long enough for something cold to slide down my spine—then looks away again.
Rude.
Erika clears her throat. “Elowen, I want to ask you something a bit more personal.”
My pulse jumps. “Okay.”
“You’ve kept to yourself during your academic years. No clubs. No research groups. No social involvement. Why?”
Because I can’t risk anyone getting close enough to notice the shadows under my skin. Because friendships mean questions, and questions mean lies.
But I can’t say that either.
“I’m… private,” I say. “I focus better alone.”
“And yet you have one close friend. Rachel Spears.”
I blink. “You… know about her?”
“We review everything,” Erika says calmly. “She speaks highly of you.”
Rachel would hype me up even if I burned toast.
Erika leans back slightly. “Elowen, I’m going to be honest with you. Strain Pharmaceuticals is not a place for people who want an easy path. We expect excellence. We expect commitment. We expect resilience.”
“I can give you all of that.”
“Can you?” she asks softly.
The question hits deeper than it should. I straighten my shoulders. “Yes.”
The man shifts again, and this time I feel his eyes on me longer. It’s not curiosity. It’s something sharper. Like he’s trying to figure out why I’m here at all.
I pointedly ignore him.
Erika closes the folder in front of her. “We’ll review your interview and contact you with our decision.”
My heart sinks. That’s what they said the last two times. And both times, the email came the next morning with a polite rejection.
I force a smile. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
Erika stands. “Thank you for coming.”
The man stands too, towering, silent, still looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. I don’t bother making eye contact.
I gather my bag, thank them again, and step out of the room.
The door closes behind me with a soft click.
And just like that, it’s over. And I have no idea how it went.
I walk down the hallway, trying to breathe, trying not to crumble. Rachel will ask how it went. I won’t know what to tell her.
Halfway to the elevator, a strange sensation prickles at the back of my neck—like someone is watching me.
I turn.
The hallway is empty.
But the feeling lingers, crawling under my skin.
I shake it off and keep walking.
I don’t know it yet, but the man in that room…
the one who didn’t smile…
the one who looked at me like he recognized something he shouldn’t…
He’s about to change everything.
- Writer
