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"Who."

"My father."

"Something wrong."

"Probably."

"Good."

I stare at him. "Good?"

"If he finds something, you improve it."

"That's not comforting."

"It wasn't meant to be." I almost laugh. Of course. Rhyven moves toward the door. Then stops. "One thing."

"What?"

"If they tell you to enter something you shouldn't..." My attention sharpens. "Don't."

The simplicity of it makes me pause. "You know that's part of the evaluation?"

"I guessed."

"How?"

"Vayne."

"Did he tell you?"

"No."

"Then—"

"He trains judgment." Rhyven opens the door. "Not obedience."

I think of Professor Vayne yesterday. Your strongest answer tomorrow may be no. Then Rhyven: Don't.

Different men. Same lesson. Trust yourself.

The corridor outside Dominion Hall is beginning to fill. Students heading toward breakfast. Early lectures. Ward shifts. Normal Friday morning. I suddenly remember what else Friday means. Saturday. Monday. Wednesday. Today. Rhyven's hand remains on the door. His expression changes.

Barely. I know he thought it too. I don't need magic to tell me.

"Three points." I say quietly.

His jaw tightens. "Not a pattern."

"Nyra's words."

"She's right."

I study him. "You don't believe them."

"I believe the evidence."

"That's not the same answer."