The mark had not dried completely. When he reached for it, the spot his fingertips touched was smoother than the rest of the wand, as though it had been polished.
After the morning potions class ended, he left through the side door on the ground floor. As he passed the row of iron benches, six people converged on him from different directions. Two were tall and burly, dressed in the gray robes that signified a high ranking at Demotika Academy, while the other four wore the white robes of the lower ranks. They all had their hoods pulled so low that their faces were impossible to make out.
Their movements seemed coordinated, their footsteps falling at almost the same pace, as though they had rehearsed their positions beforehand.
Cass neither quickened his pace nor changed direction. He simply continued along his original path until one of them pressed a hand onto his shoulder and shoved him toward the wall.
His back struck the stone wall, the seams between the blocks digging into the edges of his shoulder blades. His wand had already been taken before that. He had left it on his classroom desk, placing it near the edge to dry, only for a hand to reach in from the side, pick it up, and close around it.
His own hand had been halfway outstretched then, because the other student had already circled around from his side to stand in front of him, backlit by the window. One hand gripped the middle of the wand, shoved him half a meter forward and to the right, and tried to snap it in two.
The wand bent twice. On the third attempt, a long, thin crack opened through its middle, and the end sprang off onto the floor, rolling along a seam