In my dorm room, I slid onto my bed, my head in my hands as I cried. All the pain of losing my uncle and aunt, then finding out my real mom cared more about magic than me made a bitterness sting the back of my throat. Maybe my aunt's idea of avoiding using magic at all was better than worrying about who would accidentally get hurt because of me.

I grabbed my pillow and pressed it to my chest. Not accessing my magic was like trying not to breathe. It had always been a part of me. ...