There’s a special kind of dread that hits when someone who clearly wants to ruin your life also happens to like you.

Jonka was that dread—human-shaped and twice as annoying.

I made it all the way down the stairs with the stealth of a cat burglar late for his own heist. One more step and I’d be out the door, free to sulk dramatically somewhere in peace.

I reached for the handle.

“Hat!”

I flinched so hard I swear my soul tried climbing out my spine.

There she was, sitting by the hearth, half a pastry in one hand, smirking with the other half.

How long had she been there? How had I missed her? Did she live here now?

“I knew you’d try sneaking off,” she said, popping the last bit of pastry like she’d earned it.

I blinked, stuck between fleeing, lying, or spontaneously combusting.

“Wasn’t sneaking,” I mumbled. “Just… walking suspiciously.”

She stood up, brushing crumbs off her shirt with the flair of a stage actor. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

“I—what? Why?”

“Because you clearly need help.”

“With…?”

“Life. Direction. Social skills. Take your pick.”

She started moving before I could object, so I followed — mostly because she was blocking the door, and sadly, I haven’t unlocked that spell to phase through people yet.

Outside, the morning smelled like fresh bread, mud, and someone else’s annoying optimism.

“I was actually planning to do nothing today,” I offered. “Full schedule of brooding and avoiding people.”

“Congrats, you’re doing both with me now.”

We wound through alleys and uneven cobblestones until we hit my least favorite place: a cramped clearing behind the bakery, half dirt, half trash, and fully occupied by that same chaotic gang of kids.

They greeted Jonka like she was royalty.

“Is this… a gang?” I asked.

“Only if you mess with us,” said a kid with a missing front tooth, grinning.

“Hat’s gonna help train us,” Jonka announced like I’d volunteered.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I don’t even know how to train people,” I said, stepping back. “I barely know how to people.”

Jonka raised an eyebrow. “Right. So yesterday wasn’t you launching off a rooftop like a badly aimed firework?”

I froze. “...I tripped.”

“Tripped,” she repeated. “Horizontally. With sparks. And a very suspicious glow.”

“It was... a weather phenomenon.”

“Uh-huh. Looked a lot like magic to me.”

“It wasn’t,” I lied instantly and badly. “Maybe… swamp gas. Morning mist can be volatile, you know.”

One kid leaned in, eyes wide. “You used magic, didn’t you?”

“No.”

They all stared.

I cleared my throat. “No,” I repeated with the confidence of a man failing a lie detector test.

Jonka folded her arms. “So you didn’t shoot yourself into the sky like a suicidal bottle rocket?”

“I did not shoot myself into the— Look, maybe I propelled myself in a controlled arc.”

“Where’d you land?”

“That’s not important.”

“Because it was magic?”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jonka narrowed her eyes, then stepped way too close — personal space violation level: expert.

She pinched my hood between two fingers and sniffed.

“What are you—”

“That’s assault.”

She stepped back, smug. “Yup. Definitely watermelon. With a hint of panic.”

I tugged the hood down, scowling. “You’re deranged.”

“You crashed into that fruit cart by the east market, didn’t you?”

“I’m invoking my right to remain mysterious.”

She grinned, all teeth and trouble. “So. Magic.”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“Nope.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Hat.”

“I’m a reluctant liar. Big difference.”

The kids circled us, watching our banter like the best show in town. One was eating a pickle. Where did he even get a pickle?

Jonka crossed her arms. “Fine. Let’s say it was magic. Hypothetically. Teach us a little?”

“Because magic is dangerous, unpredictable, and I’m not keen on getting arrested, cursed, or turned into a decorative lamp.”

“Coward.”

“Realist.”

She raised a brow. “What do you want then?”

“What?”

“If I made you an offer. A deal. You teach us a bit, I will make it worth your while.”

I hesitated. Suspicious, mostly. Also, weirdly flattered anyone wanted to trade for my scraps of arcane knowledge.

“What do you even have that I’d want?”

Jonka smirked. “Leverage. Secrets. A name that doesn’t start with ‘hey, you!’”

“That last one sounds made up.”

“Think about it, Hat. You could be ‘Professor Hat.’”

“Absolutely not.”

“‘Mister Mysterious’?”

“Worse.”

“‘The Amazing Crash Wizard’?”

I groaned. “You’re just trying to annoy me into saying yes.”

“Is it working?”

Unfortunately, yes.

I glanced at the scrappy kids, the pile of mismatched sticks, the haunted bucket in the corner.

“One lesson,” I said, holding up a finger. “One. Then I vanish.”

“Deal,” Jonka clapped. “Let’s make some magic.”

I sighed. Loudly. Exhaustedly.

This was going to end in flames. Probably mine.

I dragged a piece of chalk across the dirt, hastily drawing a crooked circle around Jonka.

“Stay inside the circle. Don’t step out. No matter what,” I warned, sharper than I meant.

She blinked, confused but obedient.

“I’m trying that propulsion thing again,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes. The real goal: shove her far enough to escape — but my control was dubious.

Jonka raised an eyebrow but stayed put.

The air hummed softly, a faint green glow flickering inside the circle. Muscles tensed.

A sudden magical shove blasted Jonka backward—just not far enough.

She stumbled but stayed inside, blinking.

“Trying to launch me into next week?” she grinned.

I scowled. “Was aiming to send you away. Guess I still suck at this.”

She laughed, stepping fully into the circle. “So that was the plan all along?”

I nodded reluctantly.

Her grin turned mischievous. “Alright then. Teach me—no more accidental watermelon crashes, deal?”

The kids gathered their things, shuffling and yawning.

“Guess it's time,” one said.

“Yeah, it is” another added, looking at me like I should know their secret code.

I frowned. No clue.

One by one they drifted off until only Jonka and I remained.

She folded her arms, eyeing me with mischief and concern.

“So, what now?”

“I’m going to sleep,” I said flatly. No drama, just exhaustion.

Jonka raised an eyebrow.

I turned to leave, muttering a weak “See you around,” hoping to vanish.

Before I took a step, a firm grip caught my arm.

“Come with us,” she said, eyes glowing like some kind of weird magic.

Before I could protest, she pulled me forward.

“Wait—”

But she was already running, dragging me along like some reluctant prize.

The others laughed ahead.

I stumbled, cursing silently. Guess I’m stuck.