“Caspian knows many things he’s too well raised to use properly.”
“Cosima…”
“Yes,” she said, sharper now. “Of course he knows.”
Her anger was easier to look at than the grief beneath it.
I glanced at the Council page.
“In Caswell’s practicum, you told me what to do at the basin.”
“I did.”
“You knew it would expose me.”
“I knew it might.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better.”
“No.”
She met my eyes then.
“I was angry. I was petty. I was afraid. If you moved through the practicum cleanly, they would put you beside Caspian faster. If you faltered, they would have to slow down. Perhaps reconsider their plans.”
“So you used me.”
“Yes.”
The word hit harder because she didn’t dress it up.
“And then he stepped forward,” she said.
Her mouth pulled tight, and for one breath she looked exactly fourteen: too young, too proud, already being asked to survive the thing that would shape her.
“He chose to defend you in front of Caswell,” she said. “I wrote the smaller report afterward.”
“Smaller?”
“Less urgent. Less easy to turn into a reason to move you.”
“Why?”
Her eyes went to the Council page.
“Because the moment Caspian stepped forward, this stopped being only about you.”
My mouth went dry.
“They can use him too.”
“They already are.”
“And you’re trying to protect him.”
“I am trying,” she said, “to keep him from becoming the kind of man this place ruins.”
I considered that. It honestly felt safer if she was doing this for Caspian instead of me.
