Astra Verita had undone years of training without touching me.
I crossed the salle and opened the door.
The corridor outside was already filling. First-years with staves. Second-years with practice wraps. A faculty clerk pretending not to watch the lower stair.
He saw me leave.
Fine. Let him report it to Quill.
I took the west stair down.
The lower corridors were colder than the salle. Somewhere inside the walls, water moved with the heavy patience of a basin being told to wait.
My Mark pulled harder with something older and less forgiving than desire.
I turned the corner as Reverie LeJoi dragged Astra through a narrow service door by the sleeve.
Astra’s face was too pale.
Her eyes found mine.
The Pull struck so hard I stopped walking.
Behind them, the lower archive door stood open. Silver-white light flickered from somewhere inside, cut by the shadow of a cloth tied over a basin.
Aldric came out last with a file box under one arm.
He looked at my sleeve.
Then at Astra.
“Instructor Hale,” he said.
“Professor.”
LeJoi’s hand stayed around Astra’s sleeve.
“If this is an ambush,” she said, “pick someone else.”
Aldric did not answer her.
Astra didn’t smile.
I wanted to ask what had happened.
I wanted to cross the corridor and put myself between her and the open door.
Neither want would help her.
Worse, both were visible.
The faculty clerk had followed me to the stair. He stood at the turn above us with his slate held too still against his chest.
Aldric noticed him.
Then LeJoi did.
Astra noticed last, because she was still looking at me.
