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"He said recovery." Rhyven adds.

I narrow my eyes. "And you agreed."

"Immediately."

Of course.

"You're enjoying this."

"Immensely." I hate him. He starts walking again. I follow.

"You know I'm capable of protecting myself."

"Yes." No hesitation. That matters.

"Then stop acting like I'm going to disappear if you look away." Rhyven stops. So do I. Something changes in his face. Small. Almost nothing. But I see it.

"Theryn disappeared with a Rider beside her." Quiet.

That's all. My irritation fades. Not completely. Enough. Rhyven looks down the corridor. Then back at me. "Capability isn't the problem." I don't answer.

Because I know. That's worse. The Hollowborn don't care how capable someone is. They took a dragon.

"I'll rest." I say.

His shoulders loosen almost imperceptibly. "Good."

"But only because Vayne ordered it."

"Obviously."

"Not because you agreed."

"Naturally."

"Your opinion means nothing."

"Devastating." There. Normal again. We reach the stairs. I start down. "Eirea." I turn. He looks at the containment-kit pouch hanging from my belt. "Check the seals tonight."

"I always do."

"Again." I stare at him. He stares back. There is no point arguing.

"Fine." One nod. Then he turns toward operations. No explanation. No apology. Just another vulnerability quietly removed.

The rest of Friday passes without incident. Combat assessment. Academics. Dinner. Recovery. No patrol for me. I hate admitting Vayne was right. My shoulder feels significantly better by evening. I hate admitting Rhyven was right even more. So I don't.

At twenty-three fifty, Response Quarters become quiet. Not asleep. Quiet. Everyone knows what Thursday was supposed to bring. The pattern had been every two days. Thursday passed. Nothing. Now Friday is almost gone. Still nothing.

At twenty-three fifty-seven, I'm sitting in the common room with Nyra. The copied village references are stacked between us. Cassian left half an hour ago. Caelen is downstairs. Rhyven is somewhere in operations. No one speaks.

Twenty-three fifty-eight. Nothing. Twenty-three fifty-nine. I watch the clock. Midnight. The bell sounds once. Normal. One tone. Not four. No alarm. No running feet. No missing name. Nothing.

Nyra looks at me. "Four days." I nod. Four days since Theryn. Twice the interval. No disappearance. No depletion. No strange residue. No ward fluctuations. Nothing.

"Maybe the pattern changed." I say.

Nyra looks toward the copied records. "Patterns don't change without a reason." No. They don't.