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"You drank all of yours."

"I make bad decisions occasionally."

"Occasionally?" His eyes narrow. There. Normal again. Good.

We stand. At the corridor intersection, he stops outside his door. I stop outside mine. Twelve feet. That's all. It feels shorter tonight.

"Goodnight." I say.

"Goodnight." I open my door. Then— "Eirea."

I look back. Rhyven's hand rests on his door handle. For a second, I think he's going to say something about Sunday. About the training wall. About being across the hall. He doesn't. Of course. "Wake me if the Echo gets bad." My chest tightens. "I'm across the hall." He adds, as if that explains why this is practical instead of personal. It doesn't. Not anymore. Nyra ruined that excuse too.

I lean against my doorframe. "Do you do that for everyone?" He freezes. Oh. I almost smile.

"Do what."

"Offer middle-of-the-night emotional support."

His expression becomes deeply unimpressed. "Go to bed."

"That's not an answer."

"No." There it is. I blink. Rhyven opens his door.

Then looks back. "Goodnight, Eirea." Door closes.

I stand there. Alone. Again. No. He does not do it for everyone. Apparently. I step into my room. Close the door quietly. Nyra's voice comes from the darkness. "I heard that."

I nearly scream. "You are the worst person alive." She starts laughing into her blanket. "Go to sleep."

"Gladly." I throw my pillow at her. She laughs harder.

I lie back without retrieving it. My room is dark. Rhyven is twelve feet away. Caelen too. Nyra beside me. Cassian two doors down. Chiefs. Professors. Wardkeepers. Everyone who has become part of this strange little investigation packed into one corridor because something out there can take a dragon in seconds. Response time. That's what the Council calls it. Maybe they're right. Maybe being close will save someone. Maybe Thursday, when the pattern comes again, we'll arrive faster. Measure faster. Understand faster. Stop it. Maybe. But as I close my eyes I realize Response Quarters have created another problem.

For weeks, Rhyven and I have been able to pretend whatever is happening between us exists only in stolen moments. Training rooms. Empty corridors. Late nights. Now there are no stolen moments. He's simply there. Across the hall. At breakfast. At briefings. Outside my door at one in the morning.

And apparently he doesn't do that for everyone.

Wonderful.

Chapter Forty-two

By Thursday morning, the Academy has stopped pretending we're training for exams. The word assessment remains on the schedules. Technically.

So does practical evaluation. And advanced preparedness. Nobody believes any of it. This is war training. We simply haven't been attacked yet.

At six fifteen, I lose my manifestation. Not permanently. Professor Vayne removes it. One moment, blood answers beneath my skin. The next—nothing. "Continue."

I stare at him. "You could warn me."

"Would you like the Hollowborn to send notice?" Fair. Annoying. But Fair.

A third-year wolf comes at me. I move. Too slowly. His training blade strikes my shoulder. Hard. Pain shoots down my arm. "Dead." Vayne says.

I glare. "That's dramatic."

"Your throat was next." The wolf shrugs apologetically.