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"Stable."

"Dragons?"

"Normal."

"Eirea?" He looks at me. I smile. "What."

"Didn't ask."

"You wanted to."

"No."

"Liar."

His eyes go flat. "Go bother Dax."

"Dax threatened to bite me."

"Good."

I glance at the Varethia report. Training continued. First-Year Response functional. No anomalies. No ward changes. Everything fine. Eirea fine. Probably.

"See." I say.

Rhyven folds the report. "I know."

"Then stop looking like someone stole your organs."

His eyebrow rises. "Specific."

"Accurate."

Someone calls him. "Chief Corvell!" Rhyven turns.

A Rider is waving from the western landing zone.

"Need you." Rhyven leaves without another word.

I watch him go. Then shake my head. Fucking idiot.

Dinner comes at nineteen hundred. Nobody eats properly. At nineteen thirty, Rhyven asks for another Varethian update. I hear him. He doesn't know I hear him. At twenty hundred, nothing. At twenty thirty, still nothing. By twenty-one, everyone is exhausted enough that conversation starts becoming inefficient.

We rotate command. For the first time all day, I sit.

Dax drops into the chair beside me. "You look dead."

"Thanks."

"Corvell worse."

I glance across the command tent. Rhyven is arguing with a map.

"He always looks like that."

"No." Dax follows my gaze. Then looks at me. "Something wrong with him."

I almost laugh. "Apparently."