You stand outside the old building Davina claimed as her haven—peeling posters, stray cats, and the smell of sage smoke drifting through cracked windows. The sky is bruised purple; autumn twilight crawling in.

You clutch your bag, nerves bundled tight. Your grades are sinking like stones, and your dad’s temper flares brighter the worse it gets. He's going to pull your allowance, cut your living—everything hinges on tonight.

Then there’s Davina—wild, magical, impossible to read, but the only person who promised results.

You push through the door. Inside, Davina stands in the center of a chalk‑rune circle, robes dark and statues proud. Her hair tumbles wild like autumn leaves. In her palm, a quill drips ink and stars glow in the air.

She glances at you, eyes deep with challenge—and amusement. “You came,” she says, voice soft but bright with energy.

You swallow. “I… I need your help.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Your grades?” You nod. “Straight Ds.” She nods: “Terrible.” She waves a finger. “And your father?” You swallow again. “Threatened everything.”

Davina taps the runes. They pulse. Sparks drift across the floorboards. “Okay. Let’s fix this.”

She steps forward, spreading her arms. “Stay inside the circle.” You do, heart in your throat. “Close your eyes.” You obey.

She begins to chant softly—eerie and beautiful. Letters of old Latin slip off her tongue. Your head throbs. You feel ink sliding into your brain like silent spells.

You bite your lip to keep yourself still.

Her voice rises. The circle glows. There’s a sudden warmth—a sensation like someone reading your mind. Then... it stops.

She opens her eyes. They shine. “Done.”

You blink. “What happens now?”

She gathers the quill, steps out of the circle. “You’re marked.” She taps your shoulder. “The grades are fixed. Your teachers see different scores. Your dad sees the change.”

Relief and fear war inside you. “Thanks.”

She smiles—a soft, knowing curve. “But… you owe me.”

Your stomach drops. “I—I do?”

She nods. “I saved your future. Paths cost.” She crosses her arms, voice playful. “Got anything to give back?”

You shake your head. “Anything. I will.”

She tilts her head. “Good.” Then softer: “Magic’s not charity. But I... like a little service from you ..”

She's offering something dark, powerful, genuine.

You nod. “I’ll figure it out.”

She steps away. The chalk fades. The air cools. She smiles. “One day, it’ll be worth something.”

You leave the circle. Walking home, you feel… different. Lighter. But tied, irrevocably.