“So, wait, are you saying that the whole fiasco at the airport was your fault?”

Ian felt his insides clench. He took a deep breath and answered, “If you want to see it that way, then yes.”

After leaving Miss Winter and that boy at the ice shack, instead of heading back to the inn, Ian simply went around the nearest larger ship so he’d be hidden from sight and spent a while just glaring at the hull.

Then he kicked it.

Then again.

Ian wanted to scream.

He kicked again.

Soon enough his boots were leaving dents on the wooden surface, but he didn’t care.

He was sick of this.

After a while, Ian had to pause for a moment to catch his breath. Then he raised his foot again.

A voice behind him said, “Um, e-excuse me, bu-but, you could really make a serious dent like that… t-the owner would fine you…”

Up until that point, Ian had been able to keep himself somewhat in control, but something about hearing those words made his vision go black and his composure snap. He cursed with a stifled yell and turned to look at the person who’d interrupted him to tell them to mind their own business; all he saw was a blur.

“U-um…”

Breath rasping and his mind filling with some sort of sticky heat, Ian settled for a snarl, magic crackling around his knuckles. The unwanted visitor started asking something and Ian landed another kick on the ship. That seemed to work, and a second later he was alone again.

Ian punched the wood.

His fault? Why was it always--

There was frost where his knuckle had landed, but Ian didn’t care.

He was sick of it all ending up being his fault all the time—

Ian gasped for air. Something in the back of his mind was telling him to stop – the Magic energy around was already flickering soundlessly, but he just didn’t care anymore. He saw nothing but sparks and what might have been tears, and felt nothing but the desire to wreck, throw, scream… and he didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care--

The inMagic explosion was what finally pulled him back into reality.