Page 284

"You don't investigate anything." I stare. He sighs.

"Fine. At least don't investigate anything alone."

Better. "I can agree to that." His expression relaxes. Barely. Trust. Small. But there.

Saturday night feels unlike any night I've spent at the Academy. Nobody wants it to end. Not because of parties. Because sleep brings Sunday closer. The halls remain lit late. Students sit in common rooms with books they aren't reading. Someone plays cards. Someone else quietly braids her roommate's hair. Normal things. Defiant things. If fear wants the Academy it has to share space with all of this.

Nyra joins me near the dormitory window. Below us wardkeepers change shifts. Three at a time. Farther away, dragons move across the moonlit sky. One. Two. Another. Constant coverage.

"Tomorrow will be different." She says.

"Because we're ready."

"Maybe." I look toward her. She closes her notebook. No timeline tonight. No dates. Good. "We've changed the routes." She says. "Changed patrols. Added watchers. Everyone knows the risk."

I nod. "We're not giving them an opportunity."

The word hangs between us. Them. Whoever them is.

For once, it feels good to say it with anger instead of fear.

At midnight, final accountability is completed. Every student. Every professor. Every active staff member. Every wardkeeper. Accounted for. A cheer rises somewhere in the lower residences. Small. Immediate. Other voices join. Not loud enough to wake the Academy. Loud enough to mean something.

Saturday survived. I look out through the window. The wards glow steadily beyond Varethia. Dragons circle above. Guards stand at every path. Tomorrow, nobody walks alone. Nobody disappears into an unwatched corridor. Nobody closes a shop by themselves. Nobody patrols in pairs. Nobody vanishes because someone looked away. We've learned. We've adapted. We've made it impossible.

For the first time since the disappearances began...

I don't feel like we're waiting helplessly. I feel ready. Let Sunday come. Let's see you try.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Saturday begins with counting. Not bells. Not classes. Names. At six in the morning, every residence conducts its first accountability check. At seven, every Wing reports numbers to the Council. At eight, wardkeepers confirm civilian sectors. At nine, dragon patrols rotate. At ten, everyone is still here. No one says that part aloud. They don't need to.

Breakfast feels like an exam no one studied for. Students sit in assigned sections because the Council decided free seating complicates attendance. Every entrance is guarded. Every exit is logged. Professors move between tables carrying rosters instead of coffee. The usual morning noise exists but underneath it, everyone is listening. Waiting. For four bells. They don't come.

Nyra sits across from me with both hands wrapped around her tea. She isn't reading. That alone tells me how bad today is. Cassian is eating. Actually eating. Silently. That may be worse. Caelen stands near the Dawn Wing tables with a roster tucked beneath one arm. He has checked this room three times since I arrived. The third time, I caught him looking at me. He looked away. Progress. Barely.

"Nine fourteen." Cassian says.

Nyra looks at him. "What?"

"The time."

"I know what time is."

"I was providing information."

"No one asked."

"Conversation has become difficult." I smile faintly. He accepts the victory.

At nine thirty nothing. At ten nothing. At eleven still nothing. By noon, students start talking about it. Quietly. Carefully. As though saying it too confidently might invite punishment.

"Maybe the precautions worked."

"We doubled patrols."

"Dragons have been up since dawn."