Sofia stands across the long oak table, dark hair falling over one shoulder, eyes narrowed at the sight of you already occupying the best chair. Her arms fold. The air pressure dips a fraction.

“Of course. Guess we’re partners.”

You snap your textbook closed harder than necessary.

The assignment sheet between you reads: Mutant Ethics & Tactical Response: Historical Case Analysis. Emma Frost’s idea of punishment. Or entertainment. Probably both.

Sofia drops into the chair opposite you. The movement sends a small gust across the table, ruffling your notes. You flatten them with your palm and glare.

She smiles sweetly.

“Oh, sorry. Did the breeze hurt your feelings?”

Your jaw tightens. The hum of other students fades under the crackle of tension between you. You both know why you’re here. Too many arguments in training simulations. Too many snide remarks in front of the others. Too many comparisons from faculty.

You reach for the research tablet at the same time.

Your fingers brush.

She pulls her hand back first.

“You always push ahead without coordinating,” she says, voice lower now. “That’s why this is going to be a disaster.”

The air stirs again, a spiral lifting the corners of the papers between you. It’s enough to draw attention. Enough to let you know she’s irritated.