When the others went over to see Camilla the next morning Jacob said he'd already been over to see her the night before and that he wanted to train. When they left he couldn't stop worrying. What would she say? Would the rest of them still want to be friends with him?

He texted Tanaka to see if the other boy wanted to train the divination spell, desperate for a distraction. Thankfully, it seemed Tanaka was also bored out of his mind because he responded instantly. They booked a training room and Tanaka helped him work on the divination spell.

Jacob didn't make much progress.

He could track only spells he could cast in a range the size of a classroom for about a minute, but it drained way more of his magic than it should have and totally burnt him out. He didn't get it. He was a white mage. He should have been good at everything, and he had decent strength to boot, but Decomp was proving nigh on impossible. He was a long, long way from being able to open his own portals between Earth and the magical realm.

It looked like Tanaka—who could track any spell he could manage to envelop in the divination to a range at least the size of the campus for several hours—was going to have to do the heavy lifting.

Tanaka bluntly said that he'd continue working on the spell but in light of the Grand Final the next weekend he wouldn't have time to train Jacob, and didn't want to meet up with Camilla. Which was fine, because Jacob still wasn't sure Camilla would ever speak to him again.

The second last week of classes started the next day. Camilla didn't show. It didn't seem like she'd said anything to the others, because they all acted normal around him. Jacob tried to improve his divination but the progress was gruelling and anyway exams were now looming on the horizon.

All the profs seemed to be feeling the pressure too, as the classes became more rushed, frantic. Study guides were given out, and what to expect on each exam was gone over in immaculate detail.

Grace refused to study until the week before exams, and, as always, Jacob wasn't sure Archie ever studied, but Blake wanted to hit the books, and that ended up being a welcome distraction from everything else. If Jacob had just started to lose his seemingly survival-linked, inherent need to stay on top of every class, it now came back stronger than ever.

As the week rode on the apocalyptic anticipation of the Grand Final match grew and grew and grew until it outshone even the dark thunder of the looming exam season.

There was an egregious amount of betting, money changing hands outside dorm rooms, in the cafe, even passed between desks in class. A competition of who could create the coolest poster promoting the fight and reached a feverish pitch the night before the match. Jacob saw everything from goofy meme-ified pictures to those laminated, seemingly 3D sheets showing renderings of Tanaka and Camilla swapping poses depending on what angle you looked at it from, to magically imbued sheets of paper that called out the match in an automated voice and showed little explosions and simulated fights.

It was amazing how many nigh-useless purposes for magic people came up with. Who the hell had time to create, iron out, and practice a spell just for posters? Apparently, those people existed.

As did people who put on little light shows in an unofficial Grand Final Fiesta the night before the match and others who held seminars in packed classrooms on the abilities of both Camilla and Tanaka, often with a wild analysis of how the fight would play out.

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Grace rolled over, clutching her pillow and yanking the covers up over her cheeks. Her forehead hit the wall. She groaned. Stupid narrow double beds. She missed her nice, fluffy queen bed that swallowed her up. At least there was only a week, then exams—ugh—then she'd be back in that warm, comfy bed.

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Camilla had come in late last night. Omega late. Late even for a Friday. Training on some corner of the campus. She'd spent what felt like an hour in the bathroom, clattering around, the light shining out through the slightly open door like the abduction beam from an alien ship.

Footsteps pattered across the floor near Grace's bed. Camilla was up already?

Grace pulled her phone out from under her pillow and checked the time: 6:17am.

Grace's philosophy was that one should never see the hours between 4:00am-7:00am. She groaned and tried to sink back into sleep, but she couldn't ignore Camilla moving around. She couldn't have gotten in before 1:00am. What in the name of everything that was good was she doing up already?

Grace rolled over and blinked her eyes open. Camilla was slipping on a pair of athletic socks. She was dressed in the black, skintight jumpsuit she wore under her uniform for her matches. Her hair was tied up in a messy, hastily done topknot. Her movements looked jittery.

Oh, right, the Grand Final was today. That woke Grace up. She yawned and stretched. Poor Camilla, all stressed out. Probably couldn't sleep because of the match.

"Can't sleep?" Grace mumbled.

"No," Camilla said. She checked her hair in the bathroom mirror, then started throwing random things into a little gym bag.

"You want to go to Fireball? Grab some coffee to wake up?" Grace asked. She'd rather let Camilla leave and go back to sleep, but it was her big day. She needed to be supportive.

"No," Camilla said curtly. "Don't have time to waste with that."

Waste? "Camilla?"

Camilla rolled her eyes then turned to face her. "What?"

"Are you doing alright?"

Camilla scoffed. "I do not have time for this shit, Grace."

Grace propped herself up on her elbow. "Hey! I've hardly seen you all week. You're not getting, like, any sleep. Are you sure you don't want to relax before the match? We could-"

"I do not need a lecture on match prep from you, Grace," Camilla said. She continued to pack her stuff up.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Grace asked, knowing full well what it meant.

Camilla finally turned to her. "Look. I don't expect you to understand this, but you're distracting me and I can't afford that right now. Leave me alone."

"What the hell? I'm just trying to help you!"

"Help me by not bothering me."

"Fine, but you don't have to be an asshole about it!" Grace said. Is that what Camilla thought of her? A dumb broad who didn't understand how to fight? Well, fine. Screw her.

Camilla tensed, hands shooting briefly to her head. "I'm trying to win the tournament," she said as if talking to a badly behaved toddler. "Don't you fucking get it? Every time you distract me it just..." She flailed her arms and made a frustrated noise.

"So I'm just a distraction to you?" Grace asked.

Camilla looked her dead in the face. "Yes. You are."

Grace shrunk back into her covers. "Bitch," she croaked. If she said anything more she was going to cry.

Camilla grabbed her bag, slipped on her shoes, opened the door, and slammed it shut behind her. Grace winced. Her hands were trembling. Stupid, self-righteous bitch. Grace wished she'd lose today. Maybe that would teach her a lesson. Maybe that would be karma.

She still couldn't help but be worried for her. Where had Camilla gone, and what was this vile creature that had inhabited her body? Why did she do these things? Why did she take the tournament so seriously? It was just a tournament! It barely counted for grades.

Grace rolled over and grabbed her phone. Maybe the others would know what to do.

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"I haven't spoken to her since Saturday night," Jacob said. "She got really mad at me, like really mad."

"What?" Grace frowned. "She did?"

Grace had texted him out of the blue earlier that morning saying she was worried about Camilla. They had met up at Fireball Roast to talk about it.

"What did you do?" Grace asked.

Jacob relayed the story, minus the bit with Necromancy, instead substituting in that he'd needed Tanaka's help with the siphoning spell he'd used against Archie. No matter what reason he gave, how valid the excuse seemed, it still made him look, and feel, shitty. Funny how that worked.

"Oh no! Why?" Grace covered her face in her hands. "You have to apologize."

"But I did! And-"

"No," Grace said. "You can't just say you're sorry. You have to do something more."

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

Jacob groaned. "Now?"

"No! Are you dumb? She'll kill you," Grace said. "Maybe after, once she's won."

Jacob mulled it over, once again cursing himself for his previous cowardice.

A distant horn blared across campus, cutting through the conversation and the clink of cutlery in Fireball Roast. Everyone froze. Jacob looked at Grace, wide eyed.

Match time.