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Behind me, Nyra turns a page. Cassian argues with Caelen somewhere in the corridor. A door closes. Footsteps pass. Training begins again at six. The Council isn't slowing anything. Neither are we. Good.

Because Varethia is beginning to believe the worst has passed. And maybe, for a little while we should let it. Maybe we should eat. Train. Study. Fight. Laugh. Sleep when we can. Maybe we deserve a few quiet days. But I know something now that I didn't yesterday. Quiet doesn't always mean nothing is happening. Sometimes... it only means it's happening somewhere else.

Chapter Forty-five

By Monday, nothing has happened. Nothing. No bells. No depletion alarms. No missing names. No dragons screaming in the middle of the night. Nothing. Five days. Then six. Then seven. The Academy notices. Of course it does. At first, nobody says much. Then someone complains about the buddy rule. Someone else asks when overnight patrols will be reduced. The Place extends its hours.

A professor suggests moving one of the emergency drills back to its original date. The request is denied.

Immediately. By Tuesday morning, a new notice appears outside every training hall. CURRENT SECURITY PROTOCOLS REMAIN IN EFFECT UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Someone has written underneath: WE GET IT. A second person added:

APPARENTLY YOU DON'T. I suspect Maelis.

Training doesn't slow. If anything it gets worse.

Not longer. Smarter. Which is considerably more annoying.

At six twenty, I am handed a sword. At six twenty-three, Professor Vayne takes it away. "Continue."

I stare at my empty hand. "Seriously?"

"Yes." A third-year fae comes at me. I reach for the dagger at my thigh. Vayne says: "No."

My hand stops. "What exactly am I allowed to use?"

"Your brain."

"Then I'm doomed." The fae attacks. I move.

The entire morning is built around losing things. Weapon. Gone. Manifestation. Gone. Partner. Injured. Route. Blocked. Dominant arm. Disabled.

Visibility. Reduced. The instructors seem deeply committed to the idea that anything we rely on will eventually betray us. Comforting.

By the fourth drill, my right arm is strapped against my body. By the fifth, Cassian is declared unconscious. He immediately collapses. Dramatically. Nyra stares down at him. "You aren't dead."

"I've chosen peace."

"Get up."

"I cannot."

"You are supposed to be unconscious."

"Exactly."

"Unconscious people don't talk." Cassian closes his eyes. "Finally." I grab his ankles. Nyra takes his shoulders. We drag him across the training floor.

He opens one eye. "This feels personal."

"It is."

The next drill is worse. We have to extract two simulated casualties while a dragon blocks the safest route. No manifestations. One sword between four people. A ward failure halfway through. And Professor Kaelis shouting incorrect information at random intervals to see whether we obey him automatically. That one nearly gets someone flattened by a dragon tail. The lesson becomes clear very quickly. Authority can be wrong. Information matters more. Professor Vayne looks delighted. Which is deeply concerning.

Rhyven watches from the upper platform. Chief. Nothing more. No late-night training. No quiet coffee. No hands at my waist. Just Chief Corvell reviewing performance sheets and occasionally ruining someone's morning. Mine included.

"Vaelith." I look up.

"Your casualty is dead."