Fenrir tapped the flat of his palm against the hilt of his dagger, eyeing Renie with thinly veiled skepticism.
"I'll make the sword, but only if you get me the materials. I'm not burning my stock for a favor."
He finally said.
Renie beamed like he'd offered her a birthday present.
"Of course. I'll get you exactly what you need—no corners cut, promise."
Fenrir raised an eyebrow.
"You're unusually agreeable today."
"I want that sword, Fen. And I won't disappoint you."
She turned and strode out, waving casually over her shoulder as though she hadn't stolen his food and potions the day before.
Fenrir watched her go, let out a long sigh, and scribbled a new task into his growing mental to-do list.
"Add 'babysit lunatic's shopping list' right under 'survive elite school without going insane.' Perfect."
The next day at school was no different than the one before—except that it was, in all the worst ways.
