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Tuesday begins with a schedule nailed over the old one. Literally. Someone didn't even bother removing last week's parchment. The new sheet simply covers it. REVISED ACADEMY OPERATIONS — EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. Students gather around the notice board in complete silence. No groaning. No complaints. Not yet. I move closer. Then regret it. Morning physical conditioning. Academic blocks shortened by fifteen minutes.

Joint combat extended. Dragon practicals moved forward. Ward response evaluations added. Emergency medical instruction mandatory. Night rotations reorganized. Written examinations rescheduled. Combat assessments advanced by nearly two weeks. I stare.

Cassian reads over my shoulder. "Oh."

Nyra joins us. "What?"

Cassian points. "My future." A pause. "It appears to be terrible."

Nyra starts reading. Her expression becomes increasingly focused. Not horrified. Of course not.

Interested. "Actually..."

"No." Cassian turns toward her. "Whatever you're about to say, no."

"They've built recovery blocks."

"I don't care."

"Mandatory sleep windows for students assigned to night patrol."

"Still don't care."

"Academic hours were reduced to compensate for increased practical training."

Cassian looks at me. "Why is she impressed?"

"Because she enjoys systems."

"I enjoy effective systems." Nyra corrects.

"That's worse."

I continue reading. The new schedule isn't simply longer. It's tighter. Nothing overlaps. Training intensity rises and falls throughout the day. Students assigned to overnight security receive reduced morning conditioning. Combat groups rotate through academic periods instead of losing them completely.

Every hour seems accounted for. Planned. Balanced. Terrifyingly efficient. At the bottom— Chief Wings Officer Operational Revision Committee. Several names. Dax. Lyss. Soren. Maelis. Caelen. Rhyven. Of course.

"He did this." I mutter.

Nyra follows my gaze. "They all did."

"No."

I point toward the ridiculous organization. "He did this."

Cassian considers the schedule. "That does feel aggressively Corvell." Exactly.

A whistle sounds behind us. Students turn. Rhyven stands at the foot of the courtyard stairs with the other Chiefs. Uniform immaculate. Expression flat.

Completely normal. Again. It has been approximately thirty-six hours since he nearly kissed me and then informed me, with entirely too much confidence, that I already knew the bells were the only thing that stopped him. Apparently this has had absolutely no effect on his ability to function. Mine, unfortunately... Different story.

"Move." He says. Hundreds of students obey. I hate him. Not really. Which is becoming part of the problem.

Morning conditioning begins at six thirty. No manifestations. No weapons. Just bodies. Running. Strength work. Balance. Partner carries. Endurance. The Council apparently wants us capable of continuing to fight after our magic becomes unreliable. Given what happened to Aelindra... Reasonable. Unpleasant. Reasonable.

By seven fifteen, Cassian is lying on the grass. Professor Kaelis stands over him. "Up."

"I've passed away."