Exile, Chapter 42

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"Told ya you should have named this place the Foster Center," Keefe announced as Elwin handed Sophie a bottle of Youth to drink.

———

"So what'd you do?" she asked Keefe, to stop herself from thinking about it.

Keefe smirked. "You're not the only one who can be mysterious."

"He shattered the bottle he was using to catch a tornado and cut his hand on the glass," Elwin answered for him.

"Whoa—way to kill all the fun," Keefe complained as he unwrapped his hand and flexed his fingers. "And it was more like a scratch."

"A scratch that needed three coats of Wound Wipe to seal it."

"And you get on me for being bad at elementalism," Sophie teased.

"Hey, Miss I've-Almost-Exploded-the-School—I am awesome at elementalism, I just . . . couldn't concentrate today."

———

"I didn't mean now. But . . . come to Havenfield after school."

She walked away before she could change her mind.

"It's a date, Foster!" Keefe shouted, turning every head in the corridor and making her grit her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. "Looking forward to it."

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