Page 478

"Good."

"What else."

She breathes. "Alarm is west."

"There. Move east." She does. Slowly. Then faster.

From the balcony, Rhyven watches. No expression. Good. This is not about him. By the third run, Lena doesn't freeze. By the fourth, she guides someone else. That feels better than my ninety-four. Strange.

At seventeen hundred, Rhyven joins us. The group straightens automatically. I notice. So does he.

"Report." He says. I give it. Two students struggle with smoke. One repeatedly abandons position to assist. Three have poor ward knowledge. Five excellent with casualty movement. Two need weapon reassignment. Lena improved. Rhyven doesn't interrupt.

"Changes?"

I think. "Pair ward-weak students with fae."

"Good."

"Keep strong casualty movers together?"

"No."

I frown. "Why."

"Spread them." Right. If one team loses both—

"Got it."

"Anything else."

"Lena shouldn't be on forward response." The girl looks toward me. I continue. "Not yet." Rhyven nods. No argument. Good.

He turns toward the students. "Again tomorrow."

Collective groan. There it is. I smile. They're mine now. Poor things.

Dinner is quieter than usual. Not fear. Exhaustion. Everyone spent the day learning who replaces whom.

That takes something out of people. Nyra sits beside me. "So."

I look at her. "What."

"First-Year Response."

"Don't."

"I'm not saying anything."

"Good." She eats. Actually eats. Progress.

Cassian joins. "I've been assigned deputy siren trace."

"Congratulations."

"I don't want responsibility."

"Neither do I."