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"Controlled entry." I touch it.

This memory is deliberately disorienting. Running. Dark corridor. Someone behind the donor. Fear. Fast breathing. A turn. Another. Falling. Pain through the knee. Getting up anyway. I understand immediately why Vayne chose it. Movement. Panic. Orientation.

My senses begin adapting to someone else's body.

That's exactly what he wants. "Withdraw." I do.

The chamber snaps back.

"Stand." I already am. "North." I point. "Wrong."

Damn it. I correct. "Again." He throws something. A wooden training knife. I catch it late. Barely. "Guard."

I raise the blade. He attacks. No manifestation. Just physical response. I block. Slow. "Again." Another strike. Better. Third. I pivot. My left wrist trembles. Ignore it. Fourth. My balance shifts. Recover. Fifth. I block cleanly. Professor Vayne stops. "Time." The examiner checks the clock. "Thirty-eight seconds." I breathe heavily. Not ideal. Not terrible.

"Again."

I stare at Vayne. "Of course."

The second sample is emotional rather than physical.

Confusion. Crowds. Someone screaming a name. Being unable to find them. The donor's panic grabs hard. I withdraw on command. Stand. Orient.

"Door." I point correctly. "Father." The word catches me. Not Councillor Vaelith. Father. My eyes find him before I can stop myself. Professor Vayne notices. So does everyone else. Damn him. "Good."

A training blade comes toward me. Catch. Block. Move. My thoughts clear faster this time. Twenty-four seconds.

Third round. Hardest. They don't tell me when to withdraw. Oh. Now I understand. The memory begins harmlessly. A garden. Hands clipping flowers. Someone nearby. A conversation. Then sadness shifts underneath it. Slowly. The donor is waiting for news. Bad news. The memory begins pulling deeper. I could continue. Maybe that is what they're waiting for. I don't. I withdraw. On my own. The chamber returns.

Professor Vayne doesn't attack. For a moment, I think I've misunderstood. Then the silver-haired Councillor asks, "Why did you stop?"

"The memory changed."

"You weren't instructed to withdraw."

"I know."

"You had additional time."

"I didn't need it." A pause. "The objective changed."

The Councillor's eyes narrow. "How?"

"I had enough information to recognize the emotional transition."

"Without seeing its cause?"

"Yes."

"And you're comfortable leaving the answer unknown?" That question hits somewhere personal. The Archive. The Hollowborn. Every mystery I've chased until exhaustion. Am I comfortable leaving answers unknown? No. That's the point.

"I don't have to know everything I can know."

Silence. This time my father's eyes move. Just slightly. But I see it.

Professor Vayne steps back. "Physical assessment complete."

I exhale. Finally. My legs feel strange. Not weak. Used. My wrist has stopped trembling. Good. I straighten. The Council examiners begin writing. Pages turn. Quills scratch. No one speaks to me. Apparently I am meant to stand here while six people silently decide whether I'm competent. Wonderful.