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"Sleep?"

"Yes." Lie. He knows. Doesn't say. Good.

I steal his toast. He lets me. Suspicious. "You're getting soft."

"No."

"You didn't stop me."

"I have more." He points. Three pieces. Fair.

"Packed?" I ask.

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I'll finish tonight."

"You leave tomorrow."

"Observant."

I glare. "Everyone needs to stop saying that." Caelen smiles. "What's missing?"

"Nothing important."

"That means things are missing."

"Eirea."

"What."

"Eat." I hate everyone. I eat.

At seven fifty-two, I see Rhyven for the first time.

He's crossing the dining hall. Fast. Not running. Rhyven doesn't run indoors. Apparently even impending deployment has standards. He has papers in one hand. Flight gloves tucked beneath his arm.

Someone follows him. Then another.

"Corvell!" He stops. Professor Kaelis catches him near the door. Hands him something. Rhyven reads. Says something. Turns— his eyes find mine. Just for a second. There. I lift my coffee slightly. Morning. His chin dips. Morning. Good.

"Chief." Someone approaches him from the other side. Rhyven turns. Gone. Not literally. Enough.

Caelen watches me. I look at him. "What."

"Nothing." Good answer.

Classes are technically suspended for deploying students. Not us. First-years still have ward theory. Because apparently education remains committed to ruining my life even during military mobilization.

Professor Neris spends the entire lesson teaching emergency reinforcement. No notes. Practical. Good.

Useful. I focus. Actually focus.

At nine, deployment personnel gather on the western grounds. We can see them from the tower windows.

Rows. Third-years. Fourth-years. Chiefs. Dragon Riders with their bonded dragons farther back.