Caroline Peckham

Everyone knows, karma’s a bitch. And today her name was Tory Vega.

I’d asked the students who were housed in the rooms closest to her dorm to keep an eye on her and report anything strange back to me. A few of them had told me she woke up in the night screaming pretty regularly. But when I’d tried to ask her about that, she’d taken it as some kind of attack and had just started placing a silencing bubble around her room every night so that no one would be able to hear her scream anymore. I knew because I often walked to her door in the middle of the night and pressed my hand to it, reaching out with my own magic until it brushed against hers and reassured me that she was okay. Or if not okay, then at least alive.

Tears never did anyone any favours, but sometimes they just needed to fall.