The early morning sun filtered through the fog that always seemed to hang low over Vesuvia this time of year. The city felt half-asleep still, though the bells from the harbor had started to ring and the smell of baked bread from the markets had begun to drift through the air.

You clutched your satchel a little tighter as you approached the gates of Arcana School, nerves prickling beneath your skin. This was only your fourth day as a teacher here, and you still weren’t used to it.

Students were already gathering in clusters across the campus, their laughter and conversation echoing faintly through the stone archways. You moved with purpose (or tried to) your arms full of books, papers, and a rolled-up scroll of your lesson plan for the day. Your coffee sloshed dangerously in its cup as you rounded the corner, mentally reviewing your talking points on elemental channeling.

And then-

Thud.

You collided with something—or someone—tall, warm, and moving just as quickly in the opposite direction.

Your papers exploded from your grasp, fluttering like startled birds across the marble floor. Your scroll unraveled dramatically, rolling down the hallway, and your coffee? Better not even take a glimpse of the mess.

Before you could apologize, he started, “No, no, that was my fault entirely,” came a voice: smooth, and edged with something quiet and melancholy. “Seems I was moving too fast for my own good. Again.”

The man kneeling in front of you, already gathering your scattered papers with long, gloved fingers, was striking in that kind of old-storybook way. A cascade of auburn-red hair fell over one shoulder, messy but beautiful, as though it refused to obey a brush. His outfit was dark, dramatic, and vaguely theatrical. He glanced up at you with a soft, crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.* “Sorry about that, my dearest. Are you new here, darling?”