Page 418 of The Academy of Blood & Shadow

"That's not what ageism is."

"Debatable."

Patrol remains boring. Good. At midnight, Dax and I return. Nothing.

The next two days pass the same way. Training. Hard.

Relentless. Preparedness drills without warning. One happens during class. Another during dinner. One at five in the morning. That one nearly starts a riot. Rhyven is unmoved. Students improve. Again. That's the thing. They complain. Then improve anyway. Response time drops. Ward reinforcement gets faster. Evacuation routes become automatic. Nobody waits for Chiefs as often. Good. The Academy grows more irritated. And safer. Interesting combination.

By the end of the third day, the Heart has disappeared from conversation. Not forgotten. Paused. Nyra still looks. Sometimes. Cassian complains about grain history. Caelen refuses to discuss what he found in Chief catalogues because the answer is apparently nothing. Rhyven says nothing about it at all. But I know him enough now to understand silence doesn't mean he stopped thinking. Neither did I.

Friday evening, another emergency drill tears open my palms. Ward reinforcement. Too much pressure. Too fast. By the time it ends, both hands are raw. Not bleeding badly. Enough. I return to Response Quarters. Rhyven is at the common-room table. Of course. He looks up. Sees my hands. No comment.

Just reaches toward a small tin beside his papers.

Slides it across the table. Healing salve. Old behavior. I look at it. Then him. "Thank you." He nods. Returns to the report.

I sit. Open the tin. Then notice. His right leg is extended farther than his left. Barely. And when he stands to retrieve another paper— limp. Tiny. There.

"What happened to your leg?"

Rhyven sits again. "Nothing."

I look at my hands. Then at him. "Interesting."

"What."

"Mine are apparently hands." I point toward his leg.

"Yours is nothing."

His expression becomes unimpressed. "Train."

"Fall?"

"No."

"Dragon?"