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"Every department." I nod. "Every professor." Another nod. "Every manifestation."

Something inside me tightens. He notices. Of course he does. But he says nothing. Instead he folds his hands behind his back."There will be rumours."

"There already are."

His voice remains calm. "Do not waste your energy trying to silence them."

"I wasn't planning to."

He glances toward me. "The truth rarely competes well with gossip."

A corner of my mouth lifts. "That almost sounded like advice."

"It was."

Despite myself a quiet laugh escapes me. Small. Brief. When I look back at him I swear— Just for an instant— The corner of his mouth has softened. Then it's gone. "You've made friends." The statement catches me off guard.

"I have." I start. "Nyra, Cassian."

He nods once. "Your brother speaks highly of them."

I blink. "Caelen talks to you about my friends?"

"He talks to me about many things."

I frown. "I didn't know."

He does something that almost looks like a shrug. "You weren't meant to." Fair enough. He continues looking through the window. "And Corvell." There it is again.

"We're partners."

His eyes remain on mine. Impossible to read. "I see." He begins walking again. So do I.

"You don't trust him." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

He doesn't answer immediately. When he finally does his voice is quieter than before. "I trust Chief Corvell to do his duty."

Not the answer I asked for. "You didn't answer my question."

"I did."

"No. You answered a different one."

For a heartbeat neither of us says anything. Then— "No." He says simply. "I do not trust easily."

I blink. "Anyone?"

He looks ahead again. "No." Not professors. Not Councillors. Not allies. Not even perhaps not even himself. It suddenly occurs to me how exhausting that must be. To spend an entire lifetime believing that vigilance is the price of survival.

We reach the great doors leading toward the eastern corridor. He stops. The conversation is ending. I can feel it. There are things left unsaid. There always are. I lower my eyes. "Thank you..." I hesitate. "For speaking with me."

He studies me quietly. "I wanted to see for myself."

My brows knit together. "See what?"

"If the reports were accurate." Another pause. "They were."

Something warm spreads slowly through my chest. Not because he praised me but because he came. He didn't have to. He could have trusted written reports. Instead, he wanted to judge with his own eyes. Some irrational part of me has waited years for that.