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"It specifically says deployment."

"I was attempting optimism."

"Poorly."

"Thank you."

I keep reading. Deputy leadership. Response assignments. Emergency communication. Ward coordination. Dragon liaison. Civilian evacuation responsibilities. Supply control. Medical response. Every Wing must be capable of functioning without its Chief for a minimum of seven days. Seven. My stomach tightens. Caelen comes into the corridor.

He has already dressed. Of course. The notice is folded in one hand. I look at him. "Seven days?"

"Minimum."

"Why seven?"

"No idea."

"Do you think—"

"No." Too fast. He notices. Corrects. "I think the Council is preparing for possibilities." Possibilities. Everyone's favorite word.

Rhyven steps out behind him. His expression is unreadable. I look at him. "Good morning."

"Questionable."

"Fair." I lift the notice. "This is subtle."

"No."

"Should we panic?"

"No."

"Disappointing." Cassian mutters.

Rhyven looks toward the stairwell. "Sky Wing briefing in fifteen."

"Dawn command in twenty." Caelen adds.

Nyra looks at the clock. "Breakfast?"

"Eat while walking." Rhyven answers.

I stare. "You are becoming the enemy."

"No."

"Food while walking?"

"Efficient."

"Disgusting."

He starts down the stairs. Then looks back. "Vaelith."

I pause. "What."

"You're with Sky." Of course.