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And whatever is happening between Rhyven and me is becoming impossible to pretend isn't there.

Both are problems. One might destroy Varethia.

The other I am increasingly concerned might destroy my ability to think.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Monday morning begins without bells. For once, that doesn't feel reassuring. Saturday taught us better. By seven, every disappearance site in Varethia is closed again. Not because something new happened. Because now we know what we're looking for. Or at least we know one thing we're looking for. Absence.

The Council announcement arrives during breakfast.

All previously documented disappearance sites will undergo secondary magical assessment. Localized ward depletion, manifestation suppression, and unidentified residual signatures must be reported immediately. No mention of feeding. No mention of Hollowborn. No mention of what I saw through Aelindra's blood. The Council is learning restraint. How refreshing.

Nyra reads the notice twice. "They're checking all five."

"Good."

Cassian looks toward her. "Why do you sound disappointed?"

"I'm not."

"You made that face."

"What face?"

"The one where the Council has done something correctly and you've lost the opportunity to criticize them."

Nyra stares. "I can always find another opportunity."

"That's my girl." She kicks him beneath the table. He smiles.

I don't. Because Rhyven is sitting twelve feet away. Not looking at me. Again. This is becoming offensive. He is speaking to Soren about western patrol coverage with the same expression he uses for everything else. Calm. Focused. Insufferable. Apparently telling a woman you already know that's not what stopped me requires absolutely no emotional recovery whatsoever. Good for him. Wonderful. He reaches for a report. I reach for my tea. He turns a page. I butter toast. He says something to Dax. I consider throwing the toast. Nyra watches me. I slowly put it down. I hate everyone.

Then Rhyven stands. He collects the reports. Turns. Walks past our table. Professional. Normal. Perfectly composed. His hand brushes mine when I pass him the attendance sheet Caelen left beside my plate. Barely. Finger against finger. Nothing. Except both of us stop. Half a second. His eyes meet mine. Neither moves. Then he takes the paper. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

His voice sounds normal. Mine does too. Excellent. We are adults. He walks away. I look down at my hand. Nyra makes a tiny sound. I point at her without looking.

"Don't."

"I said nothing."

"You made a sound."

"I breathed."

"Do it quieter."

Cassian looks between us. "Why is breakfast weird now?"

"It isn't." Nyra and I answer together.

He sighs. "Fine."

Professor Neris summons us after breakfast. This time, not underground. The Archive. Apparently we have earned the privilege of being anxious somewhere familiar. By eight, the central table is buried again. Five cases. Five maps. Five sets of reports. And one new column Nyra added sometime between midnight and breakfast. RESIDUAL SIGNATURE Jonas — unknown. Elara — unknown. Lysa — unknown. Mara — unknown. Aelindra — confirmed. Professor Vayne stands opposite us. Caelen beside him. Rhyven at the end of the table.

Cassian drops into a chair. "Are we ever going to use this room for books again?"