Page 41 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

A snicker from Atticus breaks the stunned silence. Cassius and Nikolai react with matching curses, moving in synchronized coordination to cover my eyes with their hands. The sudden darkness is disorienting as they begin physically dragging me toward the open gates.

"Hey!" I protest, struggling half-heartedly against their guiding hands. "Why didn't you tell me Mortimer of the Seven was fucking jacked?"

"Shut up and focus on recovering after you clearly died before us," Nikolai hisses, his grip on my arm tightening slightly.

I can only assume Cassius directs his attention toward Mortimer with his next words.

"You could give her a heart attack and put her at risk," he scolds, shadows coiling with obvious agitation.

Atticus's laughter follows us as “we” —as in me being forced to —proceed toward the gates.

"You two fuckers are utterly jealous that the scholar of Wicked Academy is going to sweep away the very woman you're losing your shit over," he calls from behind.

"Shut up and be useful by getting Mortimer clothes like a good sidekick!" Nikolai snaps, golden aura flaring with irritation.

Atticus groans dramatically.

"I'm not a sidekick," he protests. "But if it makes you sleep at night and not get all hot and bothered over not sleeping with my Queen of Spades, so be it."

The exchange escalates as Nikolai glances back, never breaking stride as he continues guiding me forward.

"Queen of Spades? She's not even yours. Who the fuck are you?"

My curiosity piques at the vehemence in his tone. The territorial response suggests deeper issues than mere protectiveness – something closer to genuine concern about Atticus's claims regarding our bond.

I can finally manage to tug my head back enough to see as Atticus merely shrugs, snapping his fingers in a gesture that likely accompanies whatever magical solution he's applying to Mortimer's clothing situation.

His footsteps quicken as he follows our progress toward the gates.

Before he can formulate a proper retort to Nikolai's challenge, we cross the threshold between the massive golden doors. The tingling sensation of magical boundary recognition washes over me as I step through –then suddenly I'm falling, as if gravity itself has shifted orientation.

I hit the ground with an undignified "oof," the impact jarring but not painful.

The pendant is suddenly secured around my neck; bouncing against my collarbone, a physical reminder of our advancement amid this strange transition.

"Why the hell did you drop Gwenivere like that?" Cassius demands, his voice carrying notes of genuine concern rather than mere irritation.

Something feels different as I push myself to sitting position.

My voice, when I speak, emerges deeper than expected.

"What's the matter?" I ask, the realization dawning even as the question forms. “Did I trigger something?

My body has shifted back to Gabriel's form, the masculine glamour reasserting itself as we officially enter Year Two territory. The transformation occurred so seamlessly I didn't consciously register the change until hearing my own altered voice.

Cassius frowns, though his attention seems focused beyond me rather than on my changed appearance.

"No," he answers, shadows coiling with increased agitation. "But I see the problem."

Following his gaze, I turn to observe Atticus and Mortimer passing through the gates behind us. The dragon scholar now wears a uniform identical to ours, the nudity situation apparently resolved through whatever magic Atticus employed. The pureblood himself appears largely unchanged, though his hair seems noticeably longer than before, cascading past his shoulders down to his lower spine in waves that catch the ambient light.

Our collective attention shifts to Nikolai, who sits nearby cursing with uncharacteristic vulgarity.

"I don't know why the fuck Gwenivere suddenly felt so heavy," he mutters, brushing dust from his uniform.

We freeze simultaneously, processing the transformation before us.

Uh…Oh?

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