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The afternoon is worse. Not emotionally. Logistically.

Everyone needs everyone. Professors issue final field protocols. Dragon Riders rotate through equipment inspection. Ward specialists distribute portable anchors. Medical students prepare trauma bags. Fourth-years receive sealed assignment letters. Third-years sharpen weapons. Some write letters. Nobody calls them letters. I pass a girl sitting outside the library. Fourth-year. She's writing on folded parchment. Stops when someone approaches. Covers it with her hand. The person asks: "Inventory?"

"Yes." She answers. Nobody believes her. They keep walking.

Later, I see three more. Letters tucked into bags. Placed with roommates. Handed to professors. Nobody says if I don't come back. Nobody needs to.

At fifteen, I sharpen Caelen's spare blade. He doesn't ask. I do it anyway. At fifteen twenty, I repair the strap on his field bag. At fifteen thirty-five, I check his medical kit. Again. At fifteen forty, he takes it away from me. "Eirea."

"What."

"It's fine."

"I know."

"Then stop." I look at him. He softens. Barely. "Go train." So I do.

First-Year Response runs evacuation until seventeen. Again. Again. Again. I'm harder on them today. Maybe too hard. Lena misses a turn. "Again." Toren drops a kit. "Again." Mira forgets her partner. "Again." Joss returns from infirmary and complains that he's dying. "Then die while moving." He laughs. Good. Again. At the end, they're exhausted. So am I.

"Tomorrow?" Lena asks. I pause. Deployment night.

"Morning." She nods. No one complains.

At seventeen thirty, I see Rhyven again. Dragon grounds. He's crouched beside Vyrael's front leg inspecting something near the scale line. Kaelis stands nearby. Two Riders wait behind him.

I walk toward them. Not because I need Rhyven. I need to cross the field. Mostly.

Vyrael sees me first. His enormous head shifts. Rhyven notices. Looks over.

"Hey." I say. Brilliant.

"Hey." Better.

I stop several feet away. "Everything okay?"

"Yes."

"With him?"

Rhyven glances toward Vyrael. "Offended."

"Why."

"Inspection."

I look at the ancient dragon. "He seems fragile."

Vyrael releases a low rumble. I smile. "Respectfully."

Rhyven actually smiles. Small. There.

"Rhyven, we need—" I close my eyes. Of course. Kaelis is holding out another document. Rhyven looks at it. Then at me.

"Later?" The word leaves him before someone can interrupt again.

I nod. "Later." He turns away. I keep walking.

Later doesn't happen. Dinner. He's in Council. After dinner, dragon briefing. At nineteen, Chief coordination. At twenty, equipment inspection. At twenty-one, final ward strategy. I know because I hear his name approximately thirty times.