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"You can't leave."

"Watch me."

"Rhyven." I move in front of him. He tries to step around. I block.

"We don't even know if it's Eirea." His entire body goes still. Fuck. Wrong thing. Wrong fucking thing.

"I don't care." He says again. Then his voice gets louder. "I am not leaving her out of my sight if the fucking Hollowborn are back." Angry. There. Not the Academy. Not Varethia. Her.

"She's protected." I manage to say.

"No."

"She's trained."

"I know."

"Response Quarters—"

"I know."

"First-Year Response—"

"I fucking know, Caelen." His voice breaks across the landing grounds. People look. Neither of us cares. He tries to pass again. I grab his arm. Rhyven shoves me.

Hard. Not training. Not warning. A real shove. I stumble two steps. I stare at him. He stares back. Breathing hard.

Rhyven has hit me before. We've fought. Actually fought. Bruised each other. Broken each other's noses. Nearly broken worse. This is different.

There was no calculation in that shove. Nothing held back for friendship. He needed me gone. That's all.

"Are you fucking serious?" I ask. My voice is louder than I intended.

"Move."

"No."

His hands flex. This is getting worse. Good. Maybe it needs to.

"Eirea can handle herself." His jaw clenches. "You know she can." Nothing. "You spent the last few months teaching her this exact fucking lesson."

"Caelen."

"No." I step closer. "She can fight."

"I know."

"She can lead."

"I know."

"She scored ninety-four."

"I know."

"She has seventeen first-years under her and half the fucking Academy behind her."

"I KNOW." There. Rhyven's voice tears through the dark. Vyrael lifts his head farther across the field. Every Rider nearby goes quiet.