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"No." He knocks the blade from my hand. "It appears not."

I retrieve it. "You're enjoying this."

"Yes."

"At least you're honest."

After forty minutes, I finally land a clean strike. Not enough to disarm. Enough to make him step back.

His eyes sharpen. Good. Again.

We continue until the room empties around us. Not intentionally. People leave. Dax finishes. Soren goes upstairs. Two third-years pack equipment. At some point, I realize it's only us. That matters less than it used to. Maybe because we live across the hall now.

Maybe because we've already survived worse than being alone in a training room together.

Rhyven takes me down. Again. I hit the mat. Flat on my back. My left hand releases the practice blade. It rolls away. Rhyven stands over me.

"Up."

"No."

He looks down. "No?"

"No."

"You're on the floor."

"I'm aware."

"Get up."

"I live here now."

Silence. Then— "Eirea."

"No." I close my eyes. "This is my home."

"The mat."

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"I'm at peace."

I expect him to tell me to get up again. Instead, after several seconds... He sits. I open one eye. Rhyven is on the floor beside me. Back against the wall. Legs stretched out. Practice blade across his thighs.

I push myself upright. "You're joining me?"

"No."

"You're sitting."

"Observant."

I crawl toward the wall and sit beside him. Not touching. Close enough. Both sweating. Both exhausted. No crisis. No bells. No one missing. Just...quiet. For once, Rhyven doesn't reach for a report. Doesn't check a clock. Doesn't tell me to eat. I don't know what to do with that. So naturally— I talk.

"What's your favorite food?"