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"About entering a room."

"Frequently." His mouth twitches.

I walk inside. My weapons need cleaning anyway.

That is a reason. A perfectly legitimate one. I sit several feet away at the low equipment table. Lay out my daggers. Cloth. Oil. Sharpening stone. For a while, nothing. Rhyven works. I clean. The room smells like metal, leather and the faint smoke residue that never quite leaves training spaces. No bells. No Council summons. No disappearing people. No one asking us to save anything. Nice.

I inspect the edge of my first dagger. Minor nick.

Annoying. I start smoothing it. Across from me, Rhyven pulls a damaged strap free. Throws it aside.

I glance at it. Split near the buckle. I've seen that strap before. Three days ago. Maybe four. It was already fraying. "You should've replaced that."

Rhyven doesn't look up. "I am."

"Earlier."

"Useful observation."

"You're welcome."

He threads another piece of leather through the harness. I clean the dagger. Silence. Not awkward. That's new too.

"Did you always want to be Chief?" I manage to say eventually.

Rhyven's hand stops. Only for half a second. Then continues. "No." I wait. That's all.

"Wonderful conversation."

"You asked a question."

"And you answered with one word."

"Efficient."

"Annoying."

"Frequently." I smile despite myself.

I finish one blade. Start the second. "What did you want?"

Rhyven looks toward me. "When."

"When you came here."

"To survive."

I pause. "That's bleak."

"Accurate."

"Anything else?"

"Graduate."

"Ambitious."

"I try."