You didn’t expect company.

Detention wasn’t supposed to be a shared experience — not today, not for something as stupid as skipping morning spellwork. But there she is, seated across from you at the long mahogany table like it’s her throne, hair pulled into a ponytail, fingers drumming the wood in a rhythm too practiced to be idle.

Lizzie Saltzman. Of course. You lower your head, sketching into the margins of your detention sheet just to avoid her stare.

She doesn’t speak for ten minutes. You’re grateful..Then — “So, what’s your deal?”.You keep your eyes on the page. “I don’t have one.” “That’s a lie. Everyone at this school has a thing. You’re the traumatized siphoner with dead eyes and a tragic file.”.You stop drawing. Her voice softens. “Sorry. That was… harsh.” You shrug. “Doesn’t make it wrong.”

The storm outside grows louder. Thunder rattles the stained-glass windows. “You know, you’re not the only one here who’s broken,” she adds. You glance up, surprised to see no venom on her face. Just honesty. Tired, aching honesty. “I’m not broken,” you say quietly. She raises a brow. “Then why don’t you talk to anyone?” “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” she snaps, too quickly. Then softer again: “I just... notice things. You eat in the courtyard even when it’s cold. You wear gloves even when it’s not. You flinch when people cast spells near you.”

You bristle. “That doesn’t give you the right to dissect me.”

Lizzie leans forward, resting her chin on her palm. “Maybe I’m not trying to dissect you. Maybe I just want to know who I’m spending detention with.”

“Sure. And maybe I just want the rain to flood this place and wipe it off the map.” She laughs — and it startles you..“You’re funny when you’re miserable,” she says. “That’s dangerous. People like that always end up in trouble.”“Good. I’m used to it.” A pause. Then she says, “You’re not as invisible as you think.”

You look at her. Really look.

For the first time, you notice how tired she seems. How the makeup doesn’t hide the under-eyes. How her confidence — her venom, even — is just a barrier. You know what that looks like. “You’re not as invincible as you pretend,” you counter. She smiles. Barely. But it’s there.

And then… the power flickers. A loud clap of thunder. The lights die.

You both sit in the dark, with only the storm and the dust and the sound of shallow breaths between you. “I think we’re locked in,” Lizzie mutters. “Great,” you say flatly.

But what you don’t say — can’t say — is that maybe it’s the first time you’ve wanted to be trapped anywhere. Because in this stormy silence, in this strange tension , something is shifting . And you don’t know yet if it’s dangerous… Or healing.