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She laughs and steps inside. Ten minutes later, we're sitting on the windowsill overlooking the eastern gardens. Books remain open around us. Neither of us is reading.

Nyra tears off a piece of pastry. "I've decided." She starts.

"That sounds dangerous." I look at her.

"It usually is." She points at my essay. "Professor Aldren assigns too much reading."

"I don't think that's a revolutionary opinion."

She takes another bite. "No. But I feel strongly about it." I smile into my mug. The tea is still too hot. "So..." She says carefully. "You're really okay?"

I had been wondering how long it would take. "I'm tired." That's one truth I can tell her.

"I can see that." Her tone is soft.

"Training."

"I can also see that." She doesn't press. Not the way most people would. She simply waits. Giving me the chance to answer if I want to. I hate that I can't.

"I wasn't lying the other day." I say quietly. "When I asked you to trust me."

"I know."

"I wish I could explain."

"I know." Another pause. "I still trust you."

The knot in my chest loosens just enough for me to breathe. "Thank you."

She nudges my shoulder. "You can repay me by helping me with Aldren's essay."

I laugh. "So that's your plan?"

"It always was."

An hour later, we leave the residence together. The Academy feels strangely peaceful beneath the morning sun. Students read beneath trees. Others spar casually in the courtyards. A group of Tide Wing first-years sits beside the fountain arguing about something that sounds suspiciously like poetry.

"It's too nice outside to study." Nyra says.

"We're literally carrying books."

"We should study outside instead."

"Maybe we should."

The central lawn overlooking the lake has become one of the Academy's unofficial weekend gathering places. Blankets cover the grass. Students read. Some sleep beneath the trees. Others quietly practice controlled manifestations under the supervision of older students. The atmosphere reminds me less of a military academy and more of a university. People living. I almost resent how normal everything looks. Cassian waves us over from beneath an enormous white oak. Several books are stacked around him. Only one is actually open. "I've made excellent progress." He announces proudly.

Nyra looks at the page. "You've read three pages."

"They were difficult pages."

I sit down beside them. "I suddenly feel much better about my own productivity." I smile.

"You should." Cassian says. "I'm setting the curve."

For the next hour nothing important happens. And it is wonderful. We argue over Aldren's interpretation of the Second Accord. Cassian insists one historical commander was completely overrated. Nyra passionately defends him. I referee despite knowing almost nothing about the argument.

At one point, a squirrel steals half of Cassian's pastry. He looks genuinely offended. "I was eating that." The squirrel continues eating.