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“Conveniently not survival.”

His fingers stilled on the folder. The woman at the window turned her head a fraction, not enough for me to see her face, only enough to tell me she was listening with the whole of herself. Enough for me to see that her hair was perfectly styled and pinned up, as though she couldn’t tolerate having even a single hair out of place.

Pelham’s smile thinned. “No one is threatening your survival, Miss Lane.”

I thought of the word provisional. The cold room at the end of the hall where they’d put me. The way Sallow’s answer had come too fast when I asked whether there had ever been others like me.

“Good,” I said. “Then this should be quick.”

He closed the folder halfway.

“We need to establish your Order. Without a classifiable aptitude, we cannot train you responsibly. More importantly, we cannot determine how your presence interacts with the rest of the student body.”

“My presence interacts mostly by being stared at.”

“Your presence asks questions in crowded rooms.”

“That is usually called talking.”

“In your case, it is also disruptive.”

There it was, not unkind or cruel, just as polished and cold as the desk.

Pelham went on, “To remedy the foundation gap, you will receive supplemental instruction with one of our postgraduate adepts.”

“Supplemental instruction,” I repeated.

“Three afternoons a week.”

The schedule in my head rearranged itself, unhappily. Library, field notes, any hour that had belonged to me. Gone.

“Adept Cormac Vere will be instructing you.”

The name did nothing to me. It did something to the room. Pelham did not move and the woman did not move, but the air itself seemed to tighten.

“Cormac Vere,” I repeated, feeling like some kind of idiotic parrot.

“Yes.”

“Should I know that name?”

The woman turned fully then.

She was older than Pelham by decades, tall and severe, with silver threaded through black hair and a face made of planes and sharp angles. Her eyes moved over me from hemmed robe to pink hair, inventorying me with such complete dispassion that I felt less judged than weighed. For one second I had the strangest impression she was disappointed by what the scale showed. Not surprised. Disappointed. Then she looked back out the window, done with me for now.

Pelham’s mouth flattened. “You will find Adept Vere a rigorous instructor.” He laid one hand on the folder, palm flat. “Miss Lane. The opportunity you’ve been given is considerable. I understand that much here feels unfamiliar. But if you intend to remain⁠—”

If. There it was. My body heard it before my head did, and the whole room sharpened at once.

“If I intend to remain?” I asked.

Pelham’s expression did not change, which was how I knew he’d meant to let the word out, and meant me to hear it land.

“Provisional status is reviewed,” he said. “That is the nature of it.”

“And if I don’t manifest something classifiable?”

“Let’s not borrow trouble.”