Page 316

Not wandering. Working. One group practices emergency carries near the infirmary. Another studies dragon signals from the tower terrace. Second-years rehearse ward reinforcement. Third-years train first-years in evacuation movement. Chiefs move between all of it. For the first time the Academy doesn't only feel militarized. It feels coordinated. Like hundreds of separate skills are becoming one thing. Maybe that's what an army actually is. Not soldiers. Systems.

At nineteen hundred, the Chiefs post Tuesday-night assignments. Predicted disappearance window. No one calls it that officially. Everyone calls it that privately. I find my name. Rapid Response Unit Two. Nyra: Command Documentation.

Cassian: Siren Trace Unit One.

Caelen: Northern Operations.

Rhyven: Mobile Command.

"That's bad." Caelen says beside me.

I jump. "Stop appearing."

"No." He scans my assignment. "Response Unit Two."

"I can read."

"Stay behind Vayne."

"I know."

"Don't touch anything."

"I know."

"Don't—"

"Caelen." He stops. I turn. "What did we discuss?"

His jaw tightens. Orders. Fear. Trust. I can see all three fighting inside him.

Eventually— "Be careful." That's it. Not stay. Not don't. Just be careful.

I smile. "I will." Something in him relaxes. Good.

Then his gaze drifts past me. Toward Rhyven.

Rhyven is standing near the equipment tables, reviewing harness kits with Mara. I realize I've followed Caelen's gaze. He looks back at me. "Don't."

I blink. "Don't what?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

My stomach drops. "You don't know what I'm thinking."

His eyes move toward Rhyven. Then back to me.

"Unfortunately..." A pause. "I think I do."

My mouth opens. Caelen immediately starts walking away. "Excuse me?" Nothing. "Caelen." Faster. "CAELEN."

"I have somewhere to be."

"You absolute coward!" He lifts one hand without turning. I stare after him. Oh. Oh, no. Nyra is not allowed to speak to my brother ever again.

At twenty hundred, accountability begins. Everyone present. Good. Twenty-one hundred. Still present. Twenty-two. Still. The Academy grows quieter. No one relaxes. Not tonight.

I report to Response Unit Two at twenty-two thirty.