Of all the partners the administration would think to assign him, he could think of no one who was more poorly suited.

Then again...

“Father—” he began, but Blake Wright held up a hand and August went silent.

“August, it is Dean Wright in this building.” August cast his eyes down, nodding. His father clicked his tongue. “It is for your own good. And that boy’s.”

“Yes, Dean Wright.”

Father stood from his chair, straightening the folders on his desk and spinning his ring around his pinky. “It’s what’s best for you both,” he repeated, more to himself than August. “Keegan and I discussed it at length. You are the only one who can control that boy. And he's the only one with a prayer of controlling you.”

August swallowed, fixing his glasses and adjusting his satchel strap on his shoulder. “Understood, sir. But why would either of us…”

His father met his eyes. “The world may not know yet, August, but they will. And when they find out, they will not be kind.”

“Right.”

August knew that, but he tried not to remember. He was determined that they wouldn’t find out. That he could stop it.

He rolled the words over his tongue for the remainder of his walk to Ambrose Hall, the letter in his bag taunting him from its glossy blue folder.

Gabriel was…well, all of the things that August was not. Small and ferocious, easy to rile and open with his… everything. August would have had to be stupid not to notice. Gabriel had spent his entire existence in the media spotlight thanks to Keegan Masters: his altruistic, world-class Guardian of a father. The Masters' matriarch was nothing to sneeze at either, whip-smart and accomplished, making partner at one of the biggest law firms in the country before she'd had either of their sons.

August came to an abrupt stop just outside the classroom, the top of a blue ballcap cutting him off as it all but flew past him. A piece of paper stuck out of the blur’s pocket.

“Gabriel Masters.”

He said it without thinking. The blob came to a halt just inside the door, turning and gawking up from at least 8 inches below. His eyes were wide and bright behind a pair of semi-transparent aviators, feathery blond hair poking wildly out of his hat. 

“What?” Gabriel said, almost petulantly.

August swallowed, carefully keeping his expression neutral. He held out his hand. “I’m August Wright,” he said. Your partner, he didn’t add, eyes darting down to the paper in Gabriel’s pocket.

Gabriel looked confused, but schooled his expression into something approximating politeness as he took August’s hand. “Nice to meet you, August.”

August smiled.

Gabriel tilted his head. “What did you need?”

Walking the line that August walked required perfect concentration.

Just powerful enough to exist as a middling student at Ifran, but not powerful enough to attract the attention of any faculty or the other students. Average. Unremarkable.

It was complicated by being the son of the Dean, but he managed. 

He'd been wondering how he was supposed to keep that delicate balance as Gabriel Masters’ partner, but the answer was abundantly clear by the time their first class together had filtered out into the hallway and down the narrow, brick staircase.

He couldn’t.

Gabriel was a walking, talking liability. He'd also apparently independently decided to tag along for whatever August was up to. That meant a sizable crowd was tagging along too, eying them warily.

“Is it always like this?” August asked.

“Hmm?” Gabriel hummed, apparently so used to the buzz of a lingering crowd that he hadn’t noticed. August gestured to the gathering group of other students. “Oh, them? Yeah. I think they’re waiting for me to, like, throw a tantrum or something.”

“It’s more likely than you’d think,” a tall, curly-haired girl said. She had wide, brown eyes and full lips that were curled into a beatific smile. She stole Gabriel’s hat and shoved it on top of her own head, then jerked a thumb in Gabriel’s direction. “This one’s a ticking time bomb.”

“George, I see you’ve resumed your bullying.” Gabriel blew a bubble, popping it loudly and not bothering to try and retrieve his hat. “August, George. George, August.”

George gave him an appreciative once over. “August,” she said, holding out her hand to shake. “It’s so rare that our Gabriel makes new friends. Who might you be?”

“Gabriel’s assigned partner,” August explained. Before she could ask, August lifted his free hand to levitate Gabriel’s hat back onto his head. For good measure, he turned it a burnt orange. “Telekinesis with ancillary transmutation. I’m assuming they thought the aphysical and physical pairing would be advantageous.”

George’s eyes lit. “Oh! I haven’t seen a telekinetic in ages. I just met my partner, I didn’t know you and Gabriel would share a class. That’s probably going to be pretty helpful. I wish we’d gotten our assignments before we chose our class schedules.”

“I’ll be sure to let Dean Wright know,” August said. “It would be a fairly simple fix.”

“Oh, you don’t have—” George started. Gabriel snorted, and she glared at him. “What are you laughing at, you gremlin?”

“You’re so polite to strangers, George. It’s funny.”

“Shut up, I’m polite to all people. You’re just a lesser demon I elect to bully.”

Gabriel laughed again, louder, startling the growing crowd. “Whatever, George. August, want to join us for lunch?” He spun his hat around so it was backwards again, spitting his gum into a wrapper and tossing it across the hallway into a garbage can. His grin was almost menacing. “I have questions.”