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"That's your standard?"

"Yes."

"Embarrassing." I open it. Caelen sighs. Doesn't stop me. Shirts. Wrong. Weapons cloth beside food. Disgusting. Medical kit underneath everything. Idiotic. I take it apart.

"You know I'm going to unpack this the second I arrive."

"Then you'll know how to do it correctly."

"I've survived twenty-three years."

"Debatable."

He sits on the bed. Watches. I fold. Roll. Arrange. Medical kit accessible. Food separate. Spare clothes compressed. Weapon maintenance on top.

"How many blades?" I ask.

"Four."

"Where."

"Two pack."

"Other two?"

"On me."

"Good."

"Thank you, mother." I throw a sock at him. He catches it. Smiles. Then his expression changes. Not much. "Eirea."

"What."

Silence.

"Nothing." Good. I keep packing. He lets me. That's how I know he knows.

At twelve forty, someone appears at the open door.

Rhyven. I look up. He stops. His eyes move from me, to Caelen, to the completely dismantled pack.

"She attacked it." Caelen says.

"It deserved it."

Rhyven looks at the pack. "Agreed."

"Your pack is worse." I tell him.

"No."

"How do you know?"

"I packed it."

"That's not reassuring."

"It should be."