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"See?"

His mouth moves. Barely. Victory. I take a bite mostly because arguing with him requires energy and apparently he has decided I need all of mine intact.

The coffee is exactly right. Strong. A little milk. Barely sweet. I stare at it. Rhyven has already walked toward the weapons rack. "Did you make this?"

"No."

"Did you order it?"

He picks up two wooden practice blades.

"No."

"Then how does it—" He tosses one toward me. I catch it automatically.

"Warm up."

I glance at my coffee. Then at the blade.

"That's cruel."

"Drink faster."

Five minutes later, I'm barefoot on the training floor.

Not because he told me to remove my boots. Because the evaluation uniform is too formal for proper footwork, and I'd rather explain bare feet to the Council than split my head open before eight.

Rhyven circles once."No Blood Echo."

"I assumed."

"No manifestation."

"Then why am I here?"

"Move."

He attacks. I barely block. Wood cracks against wood.

"What the hell?"

"Again."

I recover. He comes at me from the opposite side. Block. Pivot. Step. Nothing complicated. No brutal combinations. No impossible attacks. Just movement. After ten minutes, I realize something.

He's not trying to exhaust me. He's barely pushing. Enough to make my body work. Enough to make my breathing settle. Enough that I stop thinking about the evaluation chamber waiting somewhere above us. I block another strike. Rhyven steps back. I lower the blade. "This isn't training." I say.

"No."

I blink. "You admit it?"

"Yes."

"Then what are we doing?"

He gestures with his blade. "You're standing here asking questions instead of imagining every possible way the Council can annoy you."

I stare. "You are distracting me."