Page 118 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"Thanks, old friend," Zeke responds with a slight smile that carries warmth transcending mere politeness, confirming a suspected history between them that apparently extends beyond current circumstances.

We enter the room once more, identical to the space we just left yet somehow carrying a subtle difference in atmosphere impossible to articulate through mere sensory observation.

Zeke closes the door with careful precision before holding the identification card against the keyhole with practiced movement suggesting frequent repetition of this particular procedure.

A hovering screen materializes before us, a translucent interface comprised of what appears to be pure energy rather than physical construction.

The card floats from his hand to orbit the central nexus, triggering cascading spell formations that glow with intertwined gold and purple light, their patterns suggesting mathematical precision beyond ordinary magical constructions I've encountered previously.

Light engulfs the entire chamber, transformation encompassing not merely visual elements but fundamental properties of space itself. An ornate clockwork mechanism materializes above our heads, its components moving with impossible precision despite apparent age suggested by patina-coating gears and springs.

"Time has stopped outside," Zeke announces with a practiced calm that suggests familiarity with the phenomenon that would leave most paranormals speechless with awe. "But we only get fifteen minutes inside before detrimental things happen to those who remain, so the sooner we plan, the better."

"What detrimental things?" Cassius inquires, practical concern overriding academic fascination with remarkable temporal manipulation surrounding us.

"Decay and melting suffering thanks to alternating temperatures," Mortimer answers with scholarly precision that somehow manages to make horrific consequences sound like merely interesting theoretical considerations rather than potentially lethal threats.

Silence follows this casual description of temporal violation's consequences, the collective processing of risk we've accepted by entering this extraordinary space.

Ouch…

Having personally witnessed similar effects during particularly creative interrogation techniques employed in prison's deepest levels, I find the description disturbingly accurate rather than hyperbolic — time manipulation's consequences on physical forms rarely receive sufficient attention in academic discussions of theoretical magical applications.

"We should get to planning," Zeke suggests with a practical focus that cuts through potential paralysis extended contemplation of risks might otherwise induce.

Gwenivere rises from where she'd settled against the nearby table, fingers slipping from mine as she steps toward the center of the chamber with a characteristic determination that somehow transforms her diminutive form into a commanding presence demanding attention from everyone present.

"First," she announces with quiet certainty that carries more weight than shouted declaration ever could, "I need to make a bond with both Mortimer and Zeke."

The idea of her declaring that so boldly makes me frown, forcing myself to tame the inner burning of anxiety and worry about the implications.

I try to remain calm on the surface, noticing how she's specifically looking my way as if to gauge my reaction before shifting her gaze to Cassius, who seems even more relaxed about the implications as he asks, "Who are we saving?"

Gwenivere actually looks relieved, the tension I clearly didn't notice in her frame seemingly leaving as she appears more frail. Whatever bubbling nerves and worries deflate, prompting me to stand up and walk over to her, wrapping her up in a hug.

"A-Atticus," she stammers, surprise evident in both her voice and the slight stiffening of her shoulders before she relaxes into the embrace.

"I get your nerves and tension, but keeping all that in your limbs as a hybrid isn't good for you, especially in stressful situations like these," I coach her, fully aware that I'm probably the essential contributor to her worry."Sorry, Queen of Spades. I've been a bit needy of you and my jealousy is on a higher level than my usual tamed calm."

She pulls back to give me a look, her silver eyes widening with surprise.

He can read minds?

The thought forms clearly in her consciousness, transparent to my perception in ways she clearly didn't anticipate.

I smirk and nod.

"Yes," I confirm aloud, watching the blush spread across her cheeks before I chuckle audibly and add, "We'll have to do a little 'catchup' when we've gotten out of Year Two since we clearly have to leave sooner rather than later."

She frowns, confusion evident in the slight furrow appearing between her brows.

"What do you mean by that?"

Cassius sighs, shadows coiling with evident discomfort about the information he's about to share.

"One of the seniors here is a sloth shifter," he declares, drawing everyone's attention before continuing, "This is his one-thousandth time taking this class."

All our jaws dropped, including mine, because I'd only walked into the conversation midway after coming back from the washroom.

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