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"You changed anyone else's?"

"Yes."

That catches me. "Who?"

"Four routes." Oh. Right. Chief. Not everything is about me. Good. Probably healthy to remember.

Then he adds: "Yours was the worst."

"I can handle blind corners."

"I know."

"Then—"

"Handling them and unnecessarily having them are different things." I open my mouth. Close it. Damn him. Rhyven returns to the equipment list. "Anything else?"

"No."

"Good."

I start walking away. "Vaelith." I turn. He tosses something. I catch it. A small metal clasp. I look down. Dagger sheath fastening. Mine broke yesterday. I haven't had time to replace it. I look up.

Rhyven is already writing again.

"When did you—"

"Your sheath was loose."

"I know."

"So fix it."

I stare at the clasp. Then him. Nyra's words try entering my head. I refuse entry. "Thank you."

A pause. "Welcome." Barely audible.

South Three is boring. Which is wonderful. No depletion. No pale distortions. No disappearances. Just three hours of patrol and Ren telling me increasingly terrible stories about his first year.

At eighteen hundred, we're relieved. At eighteen twelve, I discover the new schedule for tomorrow.

I consider desertion. Night combat. Suppression drills. Casualty extraction. Emergency ward response. Weapon redundancy. Then academics. Then exams. Then dragon practical. Then patrol. Then somehow we're expected to eat, bathe and remain people.

Impressive.

By the time I return to Response Quarters, every muscle hurts. The common room is full. Not socializing. Working. Dax is repairing a strap. Soren has three books open. Maelis is asleep upright in a chair. Cassian is studying siren-gap measurements.

Caelen isn't here. Neither is Rhyven. Good. I don't care. I go shower.

At twenty-two forty, I should sleep. Instead, I stare at the ceiling. Theryn. Thursday. Tonight should be another disappearance. If the pattern holds. Every sensor is active. Every response team prepared. And somehow that makes sleep harder. Waiting. Again.

At twenty-three ten, nothing. Twenty-three twenty.

Nothing. I get out of bed. Nyra is asleep. I don't wake her. I pull on training clothes. Take my blades. Leave.

The Response Wing training room sits one floor below us. Small. Reinforced. Three combat mats. Weapon racks. Two training dummies. No windows. No audience seating. Just enough space for people who apparently believe sleep is optional. I hear fighting before I enter. Good. I'm not alone.

Dax and Soren occupy the far mat. Dax has Soren in a hold. Soren escapes. Dax swears. Neither looks toward me. Perfect. I move toward the weapon rack. Then stop. Rhyven is standing beside it. Of course.