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"You're my sister." As though that explains everything. Maybe it does.

We resume walking. The western residences come into view through the trees. The conversation drifts toward easier things. Professor Aldren's impossible essays. The state of the dining hall pastries. Whether first-years secretly believe third-years know what they're doing.

"They do." Caelen says.

"We don't." I admit.

As we reach the fork where our paths separate, Caelen slows. "Oh." He says suddenly. "I almost forgot." He adds.

"What?"

He smiles in a way that immediately makes me suspicious. "Tell Corvell I still owe him a rematch."

I blink. "You could tell him yourself."

"I could." He starts. "But this annoys him more."

I stare at him. "You are twenty-two years old."

"I am."

"And this is how you spend your free time?"

"Sometimes."

"I am absolutely not delivering your messages."

"I know you will."

For a heartbeat I hear the twelve-year-old version of myself arguing with him in the gardens back home. Before expectations. Before titles. Before secrets. Before the Academy. He steps backward toward the Dawn residence. "I'll see you this weekend?" He asks.

"If Rhyven doesn't kill me first."

Caelen chuckles. "He won't."

"You're awfully confident."

"I know him." He begins walking away. After only a few steps, he calls over his shoulder— "And Eir?" I turn around.

"Yes?"

"Next time he says 'better'..." I wait. "Tell him I taught you."

I laugh despite myself. "I absolutely will not."

His laughter echoes across the path as he disappears toward Dawn Wing. I stand there for another moment, smiling to myself. Then I turn toward my own residence. Tomorrow is Saturday. No lectures. Only training. For the first time in days that almost sounds relaxing.

Saturday mornings at the Academy are quieter. Not silent. Just slower. No bells ring through the courtyards before sunrise. No professors hurry between lecture halls carrying stacks of books. The stone paths belong to students for a few precious hours. Some sleep. Others study. Others pretend they are going to study before inevitably finding something else to do. I fall somewhere in the middle.

Three books lie open across my desk. Professor Aldren's essay waits patiently for me to begin. I have written exactly one sentence in the last twenty minutes. It is a good sentence. Unfortunately, it is also the title. A knock sounds against my door. I look up. "Come in."

The door opens just enough for Nyra to peek inside. "I brought peace offerings." She holds up two steaming mugs. "And cinnamon pastries."

I immediately close my notebook. "I forgive you."

"You don't even know what you're forgiving." She answers.

"I don't care."