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chance to top the Great Gulon Incident—or try, at least, since nothing

will ever top that kind of genius?”

It said something that she was too tired to ask him about his

infamous prank.

“Believe me,” she told him. “No one wants out of here more than I

do. But I’m not going to risk undoing the progress I’ve made on my

arm—not after everything I’ve gone through to get this far.”

His eyes met hers—some sort of staring contest.

And she didn’t blink.

“Ugh. Fine, we can hold off the late-night exploring—for now. But

I’m still super disappointed in you, Foster. You’ve got the Fitzster

passed out cold right there. And you know Elwin would be down with

sneaking him a few funky elixirs. You could be giving him hairy feet

and purple freckles and pretty pink ringlets. But what have you been

doing instead?”

He snatched the knotted piece of extra bandage from her lap and

held it up by the corner, like it was some icky dead thing. “Do I want

to know why I found you staring at this like it holds the secrets of the

universe?”

“It’s called trying to improve my telekinesis,” she grumbled,

reaching for the scrap—but of course Keefe raised his arm and

dangled it just out of her reach. And he was too far away to punch.

“Why would you need to improve that?” he asked. “Need I remind

you that you’re the Ultimate Splotching Champion? Also the Girl Who

Dropped Bronte on His Grumpy Butt—which you should be bragging

about more, by the way. Why isn’t that embroidered across all of your

Foxfire uniforms?”

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