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I blink. "You still have that."

"Yes."

"Thief."

"Goodnight."

"That's not—" His door closes. I stare. Asshole.

Nyra is already asleep. I crawl into bed. My muscles ache. My hair smells faintly like dragon and smoke from courtyard lanterns. There is grass stuck to my sleeve. My coffee was stolen twice today. I lost at cards. Rhyven stole my book. Cassian cheated. Caelen annoyed me. Dax insulted everyone. Nothing important happened. And for once that feels like enough. I close my eyes. Tomorrow, training starts at six. Breakfast after. Dragon drills. Ward work. Probably another stupid card game if Cassian gets his way. Normal things. Ordinary things.

Chapter Fifty-eight

The knock comes at five forty-three in the morning. Three sharp hits against a door across the hall. Not mine. I open my eyes. For several seconds, I don't move. Nyra is asleep in the other bed. The room is dark except for the faint grey beginning behind the curtains. Another knock. Then a voice. "Chief Corvell. Chief Vaelith" Silence."Council summons." There it is. Movement across the hall. A door opens. Low voices. "Chief Vaelith." Caelen. I sit up. Nyra moves beneath her blankets.

"What time is it?" She asks.

"Early."

"Helpful." She pulls the blanket over her head.

Then another knock farther down the corridor. And another. And another. Not just Chiefs.

I get out of bed. Walk toward the door. Open it. The corridor is already awake. Rhyven stands outside Room 305 pulling a dark shirt over his head. Hair a mess. Barefoot. Caelen is beside him fastening his belt. A Council aide stands between them holding a list. Farther down the corridor, doors open. Third-years. Fourth-years. Every one of them being called.

My stomach tightens. Rhyven sees me. Just briefly.

His eyes move over my face. Then toward Nyra's room behind me. "Go back to sleep."

I lean against the doorway. "Absolutely." He gives me a look. I give him one back. Caelen almost smiles.

"What's happening?" I ask.

Caelen shakes his head. "Don't know."

"You're both terrible liars."

"We genuinely don't." Rhyven pulls on his boots.

"What did they say?" I ask.

"Council."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Another aide passes. "All third-years to the lower Council chamber." There. Not just Chiefs. All third-years. I look at Caelen. He heard it too.

"And fourth?" I ask.

"Already called." Rhyven says. Oh.

Fourth-years aren't really students anymore. Not in the same way. Apprentices. Field placements. Military preparation. Council work. Specialized training. The people immediately beneath professional command. Third-years. Fourth-years. Chiefs. No first-years. No second-years. I know. Everyone knows. Nobody says it. Caelen grabs his jacket. Rhyven reaches for his. The leather at his shoulder catches strangely. He stops. Looks down.

One fastening has twisted. I recognize it. The one he repaired two weeks ago. Before I can think, I cross the corridor. "Hold still."

Rhyven looks at me. "What."