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The Blackthorn Academy debate hall was a grand, domed space designed to intimidate. Rich mahogany paneling, crystal chandeliers, and the weight of a thousand past victories loomed over every student who stepped inside. But Serena Langley didn’t get intimidated.

She thrived.

Standing at the podium, she adjusted her blazer with practiced ease, the picture of composure as she delivered the final blow to her opponent’s argument. Her voice was sharp, precise, calculated for maximum impact. The room hung on her every word, waiting for her to finish tearing apart the competition with the kind of confidence that made people believe she was untouchable.

Then came Theo Sinclair.

Serena had seen him before, of course. Everyone knew Theo Sinclair. He was the kind of student professors begged to apply himself, the kind who did the bare minimum and still made people question their own intelligence. Serena had never spoken to him directly, though—not because she avoided him, but because he never seemed to be part of the game. He floated through Blackthorn like he had nothing to prove, while everyone else fought tooth and nail for dominance.

And yet, here he was.

His presence was lazy perfection, slouched in his chair as if he might fall asleep before it was even his turn to speak. He only moved when the moderator called his name, unfolding himself from his seat with the kind of effortless grace that made it impossible not to look at him.

He stepped up to the podium, hands tucked in his pockets, expression unreadable.

And then he smiled.

Not a full grin. Not cocky. Worse. The kind of smile that was just a little amused, like he was already in on the joke no one else knew about.

Serena narrowed her eyes.

Theo glanced at her, then at the judges. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth, even, almost too casual—like he wasn’t just debating but telling a story everyone wanted to hear.

“That was impressive,” he said, nodding toward her. “Truly. If I hadn’t spent the past ten minutes listening carefully, I might even believe half of it.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the audience.

Serena’s fingers curled against the podium.

Theo tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. “You make an excellent case, Langley. Polished. Sharp. Exactly what someone would say if they were trying to convince people they’re always right.”

More laughter.

Serena’s lips pressed into a thin line. He was enjoying this.

She folded her arms, arching a brow. “You have something better?”

Theo exhaled through his nose, a small, almost imperceptible laugh. “Not better. Just… less scripted.” He let the words settle before launching into his counterargument with the kind of effortless intelligence that shouldn’t have been possible for someone so laid-back.

Serena hated it.

She hated that he made it look easy. That his fan club—who occupied an entire section of the audience—was already swooning. That the judges were leaning forward, hooked, as if they hadn’t already decided she had the superior argument.

And most of all, she hated that when he finished, when he stepped back from the podium and gave her a single, knowing glance, she felt something she hadn’t in a long, long time.

A challenge.

It wasn’t over.

Not even close.