The problem with being a witch was that no one understood you. Not what you could do, not why you could do it. Definitely not why you would. Most days Exen was happy with that. Having no one believe in you was kind of nice. Better than the weight of expectations.
Then there was Max. The bastard knew what she could do. If she was being honest, he probably knew better than she did. Not that he’d share it, or she’d trust him to. But sometimes he was so busy hiding what he was that he forgot that not everyone could do that.
Which is why she was the one trying to stop idiots from being even stupider than they had to be.
“Back off,” she said to the four troglodytes masquerading as functioning teenagers, “or I’m going to go full Weatherwax on your asses.”
She was quite proud of that threat. Even if almost no one got it until it was demonstrated.