The headmistress waved them off, her sharp gaze sweeping the room one last time.
Tomorrow's competition awaited, but for now, the students were dismissed.
Samara exhaled, her shoulders heavy with fatigue.
Finally, a few hours to rest—she could almost feel her strength returning.
She stepped out of the kitchen, the lingering aroma of spices clinging to her clothes. Stacey appeared beside her, nudging her lightly on the elbow.
"And here I was worried you couldn't cook," she said, a teasing grin tugging at her lips.
Samara's lips twitched, but she only nodded, thoughts still sluggish.
"What can I say? Pure luck," she murmured.
Stacey blinked, genuinely baffled.
"Luck? That wasn't luck, Sam. That was talent. And already… you've qualified. You might even be the top candidate, if the judges don't change their minds tomorrow."
A soft hum of acknowledgment escaped Samara. Her gaze drifted ahead, focused on the path to her dormitory. Rest was calling, a quiet promise she longed to answer—until Stacey's hand caught hers, firm and insistent.
"You're not going straight to your room, are you? The mistress said we could explore, get familiar with the grounds. We just can't leave the estate," Stacey said, her tone playful but persuasive.
Samara hesitated. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, yet something in Stacey's eager expression pricked at her curiosity.
"Fine," she said, finally giving a small, reluctant smile. "But just for a little while."
Stacey's grin widened instantly, bright and triumphant. "That's the spirit! Come on, I'll show you the best spots before dinner."
Samara allowed herself to be led away, her steps slow at first, then gradually lighter as the estate opened up like a new world before her.
The gardens were breathtaking—an ocean of color and movement. Butterflies danced through the air, their wings patterned like stained glass.
Samara felt herself drawn into the scene, the stress of the morning momentarily dissolving.
Stacey chattered beside her, words blending into white noise. Samara barely heard them.
Then, abruptly, a sensation pricked at her awareness—a warmth brushing against her side, a subtle pressure that made her pulse spike.
A low, rumbling voice whispered in her mind.
"I missed you, sweetheart."
Samara froze. All the enchantment, all the fatigue, all the anger she had been holding toward Adrian evaporated. In their place surged fury, raw and electric. Her senses sharpened, every nerve screaming.
She spun around, eyes scanning the gardens—but no one was there. Disappointment flickered, quickly replaced by confusion.
Her gaze fell to the bracelet her aunt had given her, silver in the sunlight.
It's probably my imagination, she told herself, fingers brushing the bracelet. I still have the bracelet on…
A breeze carried the scent of blossoms and distant stone, and a whisper of movement tickled her awareness. She didn't see him, but she knew—Adrian was present, guiding, shaping her instincts even without her conscious control. Her steps became lighter, sharper, precise, almost as if the gardens themselves bent subtly to her will.
"HEY!" Stacey's voice broke through her thoughts.
Samara turned, forcing a polite smile.
"The garden is indeed beautiful," she said, lips plastered in a practiced curve.
Stacey blinked, clearly baffled.
"I didn't ask that," she said, teasingly. "But… yes, it is beautiful indeed."
Her gaze drifted past the gardens, toward the distant mountains.
"You know," she said softly, "the palace isn't that far from here. Just a few mountains and a short stretch of land, and you'd be there."
Samara followed her gaze. The mountains loomed majestic and silent under the soft sunlight, their peaks brushing the clouds. She turned back to Stacey and noticed something new—a subtle, wistful longing in her friend's eyes.
Curiosity, she admitted to herself, though she would never say it aloud. And something else…
Her fingers brushed against the bracelet her aunt had given her. Warmth lingered there, steady and unyielding, and a faint whisper in her mind made her pulse quicken.
Adrian.
The thought made her frown. She had told herself she didn't need his guidance, didn't want his help. Yet she could feel it—like a subtle current running through her veins, steady and impossible to ignore. Every step felt lighter, every movement sharper, as if some invisible hand were guiding her through the gardens.
A faint smile tugged at her lips, though her eyes remained sharp. I can feel it, she whispered, almost to herself. The thrill of anticipation coiled through her chest. Everything is about to change.
"We should probably head back," Stacey said.
Samara nodded in agreement. The sun had begun to dip slightly, casting long golden shadows across the garden paths.
They turned toward the estate buildings.
But before they could take more than a few steps, three girls appeared in front of them, blocking the path. Their expressions were anything but friendly. Envy twisted their features, and one girl in particular wore a deep, sour frown.
Samara barely spared them a glance.
She had no interest in petty confrontations. Without saying a word, she simply stepped to the side, intending to walk past them.
Unfortunately, the girls were not willing to let her leave so easily.
A tall blonde girl with a slender frame suddenly reached out and grabbed Samara's wrist. Her fingers tightened with deliberate force as a smug smile spread across her face.
"What kind of game are you playing?" the girl asked coldly.
Her grip tightened further.
"Clearly someone like you shouldn't qualify in a single round… especially considering how vulgar you were when we first arrived."
Samara lowered her head slightly. Her long dark hair slid forward, covering most of her face.
Behind her, Stacey quietly stepped back, distancing herself from the confrontation.
Samara's voice came out soft and calm.
"I don't like violence," she said quietly. "So please refrain from touching me without permission."
The girls exchanged mocking looks.
"You don't scare us, you bitch," another girl sneered. "You must be doing some kind of voodoo trick to get that result."
For a brief moment, everything was silent.
Then—
Samara moved.
Her hand suddenly twisted with surprising strength. With a sharp motion she tore her wrist free from the blonde girl's grip before grabbing the girl's arm in return.
The movement was so fast the others barely saw it.
A second later—
CRACK!
Samara twisted the girl's arm brutally.
A shrill scream echoed through the garden. Birds perched in the trees burst into the air, startled by the sudden noise.
The blonde girl collapsed to her knees, clutching her arm in agony.
Samara didn't even hesitate.
She lifted her leg and kicked the girl directly in the face.
THUD.
The girl fell sideways onto the stone path.
The other two girls stared in stunned silence, their confidence evaporating instantly.
"You—"
One of them tried to speak.
She never finished.
Samara moved again.
Her fist shot forward with frightening speed.
BAM.
The punch landed squarely on the girl's jaw.
Her eyes rolled back instantly as her body collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Only one girl remained.
She stood frozen, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
Samara slowly turned toward her.
A wide smile spread across her face, but there was nothing friendly about it.
"You got lucky," Samara said softly.
The girl's face went pale.
"Now run along."
The girl didn't need to be told twice.
She turned and sprinted down the garden path as fast as her legs could carry her.
Behind her, the blonde girl lay whimpering on the ground, clutching her arm and struggling to breathe through the pain.
Samara calmly brushed invisible dust from her sleeve.
As if nothing had happened.