Page 142

This time I turn toward her.

She hesitates. Then quietly asks, "What happened yesterday?"

I already know what she means. Where were you? Why did you miss class? Why were you with Rhyven and Cassian? Why did you look like you'd seen a ghost afterward? I lower my eyes to my notebook. "I can't tell you." She is silent for several heartbeats. When I finally look back she isn't angry. She's hurt. Not dramatically. Not visibly. Just...Disappointed. The expression twists something inside me. "It's not because I don't trust you." I whisper.

"Then why?"

Because Professor Neris locked the door. Because the Council already knows. Because if this reaches the wrong ears— None of those answers belong to me.

"I promised." I say quietly.

Nyra watches me for a long moment. "To Professor Neris?" I hesitate. She notices. "You don't have to answer." Another silence.

Then, before I can lose my nerve— "I need you to trust me." The words come out softer than I intended. "I hate keeping things from you but..." I search for something that doesn't feel like another lie. "If I tell you before I should I could make things worse."

Nyra studies my face. Really studies it. Looking for hesitation. For deceit. She finds neither. Finally...She nods. "I trust you."

Relief washes through me so suddenly it almost hurts. "You don't have to like it."

"I don't." She admits.

"I know."

"But I trust you."

Somehow that feels heavier than forgiveness. Professor Aldren's voice draws our attention back to the front. "...which is why historians should fear certainty more than ignorance." He gestures toward the map once more. "If every account agrees perfectly..." He pauses. "Someone has probably edited the truth." Around me, quills begin moving again. Students return to their notes. Beside me, Nyra quietly copies the final sentence. Our shoulders almost touch. She doesn't ask another question. She keeps her promise as completely as she expects me to keep mine. The final bell rings. Books close. Students begin gathering their things, conversations slowly returning to the room. Professor Aldren waits until nearly everyone is standing. "Your comparative essays are due Monday." A collective groan moves through the classroom. He pretends not to hear it. "And remember..." He slips another piece of chalk into his pocket. "History rewards those willing to question comfortable conclusions." With that, he leaves.

The corridor outside fills almost immediately. Students from different lectures spill into the academic wing, creating the familiar chaos between classes. Nyra and I are barely halfway toward the staircase when someone calls my name.

"Vaelith." I turn. Mara approaches through the crowd. Unlike most students weaving around hurriedly, she moves with steady purpose. Her Sky Wing insignia catches the morning light.

She stops in front of us. "Chief Corvell wants the Wing assembled."

"When?" I ask.

"Lunch."

"Where?"

"The eastern ridge." Our usual meeting place. "No exceptions." She glances briefly toward Nyra before returning her attention to me. "He asked me to make sure every first-year received the message personally."

"I'll be there."

"I know." She turns to leave. Then pauses. "Oh." I raise an eyebrow. "He also said..." For the first time since I've met her, something almost resembling amusement flickers across her face. "Not to be late."

I can't help it. A tiny smile escapes. "That sounds like him." Mara inclines her head once before disappearing back into the current of students.

Nyra watches her go. "Should I be worried?"

"I honestly don't know."

"I was hoping you'd say no."

"So was I."

Together, we continue toward the dining hall. Outside, the eastern cliffs stand motionless beneath the afternoon sun. Somewhere beyond them Chief Corvell is already planning something. And somehow I have the feeling lunch is about to become much more important than food.

By the time I reach the eastern ridge, nearly half of Sky Wing is already there. Some students stand in small groups beneath the pines overlooking the cliffs. Others sit on the flat rocks scattered around the clearing, eating the last few bites of lunch while talking quietly amongst themselves. The atmosphere feels different. Not tense. Expectant. Everyone knows Chief Corvell doesn't call meetings simply to repeat information we've already heard. If we're here there's a reason.