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I put one hand into my pocket. Touch the folded note.

Don't destroy Varethia while I'm gone. Not goodbye.

Rhyven doesn't do goodbye. Fine. Neither do I.

I look toward the empty sky. "Come back, Corvell."

So quietly nobody hears. Maybe that's good. Then I turn toward the Academy. And go inside.

Chapter Sixty-one

CAELEN'S POV

Rhyven looks back toward Varethia for the fourth time in twenty minutes. I count. Not intentionally at first. By the fourth, it becomes difficult not to.

Vyrael flies several lengths ahead of the rest of the formation, enormous wings cutting through the dark as though the sky was built specifically to accommodate him. Rhyven sits against his back.

Straight. Still. Exactly as he always does. If I didn't know him, I wouldn't notice anything. Unfortunately, I've known the bastard for years. He looks back again.

Five. I tighten my grip on my bag and stare at him through the darkness.

The deployment left Varethia two hours ago. Two hours since Eirea stood somewhere behind us while the Academy watched us leave. I didn't see her after I joined ground command. Didn't need to. I know my sister. She would've stood there until there was nothing left to look at. Then told everyone she was fine. Probably reorganized something. Counted bandages. Sharpened a weapon that was already sharp. She gets that from Father. Unfortunately.

Rhyven looks back again. Six. Oh, for fuck's sake.

We land briefly on a southern ridge to rotate ground transport and check equipment. Vyrael touches down first. Rhyven dismounts before anyone gets close enough to help. He checks Vyrael. Harness. Wing line. Medical pack. Weapons. Then lifts his head toward the north. Varethia isn't visible anymore. Hasn't been for hours. He looks anyway. I walk toward him. "You planning to turn around?"

He doesn't look at me. "No."

"Could've fooled me."

"Try harder." There he is. Technically.

I stop beside him. "She's fine."

His hands still on one of Vyrael's straps. Half a second. Then continue. "I know."

"You don't look like you know."

Rhyven finally looks at me. "And what exactly do I look like?"

"Tired."

"Useful."

"Annoying."

"Frequently." I fight a smile. Do not encourage the bastard.

Vyrael's head turns toward us. More accurately toward Rhyven. Something passes through their bond. I can't hear it. Never can. But I know the look Rhyven gets when Vyrael says something he doesn't particularly enjoy. Jaw slightly tighter. Eyes narrowing. One slow breath through his nose.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"Dragon agrees with me?"

"No."