Professor Cain's ritual magic classroom smelled like incense and old blood.

I sat in my usual seat, my hands folded on the desk, my expression perfectly neutral. The room hummed with the usual pre-class energy, students shuffling papers, whispering to neighbors, sharpening quills against stone.

Then Cain walked in.

He moved to the front of the room with his usual measured grace, his black eyes scanning the class like a predator counting prey. "Today," he said, "we'll be practicing scent ...