Already standing, Jazelle watched Sunder with wary eyes as he approached, her head turning to at least keep him partially in her peripheral view as he went behind her to cut the rope. As soon as she felt the severed binds drop from her, she quickly stepped away and spun around to face him as he backed off. She looked away from him only long enough to glance at the red marks left in the rope’s wake, her shoulders aching slightly in protest from their rough treatment in such an awkward position. She rubbed her wrists tenderly as she returned her cautious stare to Sunder.
	Jazelle’s eyes narrowed when he muttered something under his breath. When a gentle buzzing tingle made her arm hairs stand on end, her hand went to the pocket concealing her knife. Though she had no idea what it meant--and doubted her knife would do much good--she had the feeling that there was a connection between the two events. 
	She gripped the body of the butterfly knife, the chill and weight of the metal reassuring as he turned and headed toward the door without a word, and paused.
	She stood in the middle of the room, staring after him. He wanted her to follow. She cast a quick glance about the room. It was not like she had many options. Hesitantly, she followed after him, keeping a few feet between them. In the corridor, she paused and glanced behind her toward the path not taken. She stared hard at the stairs leading into the depths of the building, contemplating running the opposite direction. Either way, the unknown awaited her, but only one direction offered her the possibility of any kind of answers. At least, so long as Sunder held no malice toward her, as he had displayed thus far.
	Her grip never loosening on her knife, she discretely transferred it from her pants pocket into her hoodie, shoved both hands inside the muff, and followed after Sunder, her gait determined and shoulders down and back. 
	Inside his office, she remained near the door, head bent slightly, as he headed to his desk, ignoring his gesture to take a seat. She watched him and took in the new surroundings from beneath the partial vail of her blond hair.
	Jazelle stared at Sunder with a slightly blank look as he began. She raised an eyebrow as he smiled dryly.
	“Well, aren’t [i]you[/i] a modest one?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
	A snigger burst from her when he said she had magic. By the time he raised an eyebrow, her snigger turned into a loud, “Ha!”
	“Never had a dream like [i]this[/i] before,” she muttered, looking to the corner with an amused smirk. “Man, my brain’s weird.” She looked back to Sunder, her expression unchanging, and replaced her hand in her hoodie’s muff. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to be a half-giant who’s the Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Whitehall, would you?”
	Jazelle regarded him for a moment when he finished speaking. “Jazelle Sanders. Probably the most non-magical girl in my entire state. Sorry to disappoint, but I think your Necromancer friend made a mistake.” In emphasis, she raised a hand toward a wall and willed something--anything--to happen. Nothing did. She returned her hand to the fuzzy insides of the front pocket, and shrugged. “Never even bent a spoon before. So, unless your ‘most prestigious magical academy’ can fix [i]that[/i], looks like I’m out of luck.” [i]Not that I had any to begin with,[/i] she added to herself, her brows raising slightly.