Page 92 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"You don't have to follow me everywhere just because we seem to have the same schedule," I inform him, slowing my pace enough for him to catch up. "I already have a team I'll be eating with, so you can go with your usual group."

His expression –a curious blend of resignation and embarrassment– makes something in my chest tighten uncomfortably.

"I don't have anyone to sit with," he admits softly, those extraordinary eyes lowering to study the intricate floor patterns with sudden fascination.

Now that we're standing in the more generous lighting of the main corridor, I can better appreciate the unusual coloration of his irises – not quite green or gold, but something between, with subtle striations that shift like sunlight through a forest canopy. The effect is hypnotic and distinctly non-human, further evidence of whatever unique paranormal classification he belongs to.

More concerning is the realization that he isn't carrying any food or even reaching for a wallet to purchase lunch.

My gaze moves pointedly to his empty hands.

"Are you going to buy anything at the café?"

He shakes his head, those remarkable eyes still avoiding direct contact.

"Why not?" I press, curiosity overriding the urge to maintain a disinterested distance. "Even if you're not hungry, you should eat something."

Zeke hesitates, shifting his weight in a motion that carries feline grace despite his evident discomfort. He glances around before responding, voice lowered as if sharing confidential information.

"Purchasing food is very different here," he explains with careful precision. "It requires a special currency that's given based on performance in class. They explained it while you were in the washroom earlier."

I frown, the concept striking me as fundamentally wrong.

"In Faerie…where things should be abundant with how 'rich and perfect' this world supposedly is, they've approved a system where students potentially go hungry based on academic achievement?"

The cruelty of such an arrangement seems particularly pointed when considering Zeke's already too-thin frame. Without a conscious decision, I move us toward one side of the hallway, creating space for other students to pass while continuing our conversation.

"It wasn't always like this," Zeke elaborates, seeming to gain confidence as he shares information rather than personal details. "It's a bit of punishment for Faerie."

"Punishment?" I echo, genuine surprise breaking through my cultivated nonchalance. "For what?"

For beings of perfection, I wonder what they could have done or who did they piss off to suddenly be penalized to do “well” or at least well enough to make money to eat the basic necessity of food.

The question hangs unanswered as sudden laughter erupts from a nearby alcove, drawing both our attention.

A small crowd has gathered, their focus centered on what appears to be a standard bullying scenario – several larger students surrounding a smaller one, their postures radiating predatory satisfaction.

I hesitate, watching rather than immediately intervening.

Unlike the classroom situation, where personal involvement justified response, this scene represents the everyday cruelty that permeates academy life. While part of me instinctivelywants to step forward, more pragmatic considerations prevail. I'm not here to be everyone's savior – not when such behavior would inevitably draw attention I can't afford.

As we approach the cafeteria entrance, a strange sense of déjà vu washes over me.

The double doors with their ornate handles suddenly transformed in my mind's eye, overlaid with memories of the main academy's cafeteria where Damien had orchestrated my public humiliation.

The phantom scent of urine rises unbidden, so vivid it triggers an immediate physiological response – mouth drying, pulse-quickening, stomach clenching with remembered shame.

I stop abruptly, turning away from the entrance.

"Where are you going?" Zeke asks, confusion evident in his musical voice.

"Not hungry anymore," I mutter, already moving in the opposite direction.

The collision happens so quickly I barely register movement before impact.

One moment I'm pivoting away from the cafeteria doors, the next I'm crashing into a solid mass that shouldn't have been directly behind me.

Instead of tumbling backward as physics would dictate, I feel unexpected support from behind – Zeke's hands catching my shoulders with surprising strength given his delicate appearance.

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