Page 5 of Challenge Me

Or not think.

Not thinking sounded much better. I limped to the coffee machine and jabbed at the power button with more force than necessary before placing a cup beneath the spout. I pressed the button for a mocha, because if I was going to drink something bitter and disappointing, it might as well have delusions of hot chocolate.

The machine hissed. Spluttered. Made a sound as if it were considering death.

Relatable.

Then it spit coffee out sideways, missing the cup so spectacularly I could have sworn it was deliberate. I stared down at my suit, at the brown stains blooming over the red wool. The damp sank all the way to my skin, the boiling liquid leaving no marks. I felt no pain—heat didn’t affect me. I did, however, feel my eye twitch.

How much more could one man handle?

My jaw tightened at the sound of footsteps behind me. I did not turn around. I knew who the footsteps belonged to; we had spent too many years together for me not to know the weight of Al’s stride, the lazy confidence of it.

I did wonder how on earth he had become the head of the academy; that man legally should not have been within a hundred yards of a school, let alone in charge of one, but here he was.

“Rough–?”

“Yeah,” I cut in, because I did not have the strength to sit through the entire script of small talk before we arrived at whatever point he wanted to beat around. I took my cup from the machine and stared into the greasy foam like it might hold answers. “All my students are hopeless. This world is going to die because not one of its future gods can hit a stationary target.”

Al chuckled, because of course he did. “Let me guess. The nurse’s office line is at least a dozen long.”

“At least.” I shoved my coffee cup into his hand and turned back to make myself a fresh one. “Oh, and you know. I’m dying.”

Al raised a brow. “How immediate is your upcoming death? Want me to find a sub for the rest of the day?”

I groaned, irritated by how oblivious the man could be, and sat in the nearest chair, pointing at my temple.

“I don’t follow.”

“I found a gray hair today. Like a beacon for Death, announcing to the reaper that I’m ripe for the afterlife.”

I swear, if Al had laughed, I was going to dispatch him then and there so that I would have someone to carry my baggage through hell. To his credit, though, he didn’t.

“You are probably just stressed,” he offered after a sip of coffee.

“Stressed?” I muttered, unconvinced. I was not a man who got stressed. To me, life had always felt like a river. Most people exhausted themselves fighting the current, but I never saw the point. The river knew where it was going. All I had to do was float.

When opportunities appeared, I took them.

When storms arrived, I weathered them.

When the current changed direction, I changed with it.

Simple.

I’d never paddled against the current until now. Now I knew the river ended in a drop.

Our world was dying, and for the first time in my life, I could not simply float along and trust the current.

I had to paddle. Hard.

“You need to relax,” Al said, leaning over the seat.

I glared over my fresh cup at him. Al suggesting relaxation was like a wildfire suggesting hydration. He immediately threw his arms up in surrender, coffee cup still in one hand. “See? Exactly. You’re so fucking tense, it’s unbearable.”

“I am not tense,” I muttered tensely.

“You made third-year students jump off a building. Some of them still tie their laces with bunny ears.”