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Nyra talks about something. I listen. Mostly. Maybe. A librarian. No. A book. Something about Cassian believing an old symbol was a fish when it was actually a ceremonial crown. I smile at the correct moments. I think.

At eleven, Caelen finds us. Finally. He's carrying two knives. One half sharpened. "Hey."

I look at him. "Hey." He looks tired. Good. Alive. Here.

"You ate?"

I stare. "Why is everyone like this."

"Answer."

"Yes."

"Actual food?"

"Go away." He smiles.

I look at his weapons. "Give me that."

"What."

"The knife."

"No."

"Caelen."

"It's fine."

"It's embarrassing." He looks toward the blade.

Then hands it over.

We sit outside North Residence. I sharpen. He talks. Not about deployment. Something about Dax threatening to throw a quartermaster into a river.

Something about Soren losing his assignment papers and finding them in his own coat. Normal. I appreciate the effort enough not to say so.

Eventually— "What time." I ask.

"Nine." My hand stops. Only briefly. Nine tonight. Ten hours.

"Okay." Caelen looks at me. I keep sharpening. "Four hours to Elarion?"

"Approximately."

"Weather?"

"Clear."

"Route?"

"Southern ridge."

"Ground force?"

"Leaves separately."

"You're not flying."