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She shakes her head. "No." She touches it again, more cautiously. "It's alive."

I frown. "Then what's wrong?"

Nyra's blue eyes search the trunk. "I can't feel it."

The words settle uneasily. "You've never touched this kind of tree," Rowan says.

"Maybe." Nyra does not sound convinced.

The bracelet on my wrist grows cold. Not warm like before. Cold enough to ache. The silver number flickers. 117. Gone. Then back. Rowan's does the same. Nyra steps away from the tree.

"We should leave."

Neither of us argues. We move quickly. No marker instructs us. No illusion appears. The silent region lasts perhaps thirty steps. Then sound returns all at once. Leaves rustle. A bird calls. Insects hum beneath the roots. Rowan stops again.

"What the hell was that?" She asks.

"Part of the Trial," I answer.

It is the most reasonable explanation. Nyra looks back. The path behind us appears ordinary. Nothing follows. Still, she rubs her fingertips against her palm as though trying to remove the sensation of the tree.

We continue without discussing it. The path ends at a wide clearing. A fourth student stands near its center with his back to us.

Dark curly hair. Deep blue training clothes marking siren inheritance. One hand rests against his temple. The other is raised toward the mist surrounding him.

"Stop," he says.

Rowan immediately lowers into a defensive stance. The boy turns. And the world shifts beneath me. Not magically. Something far less convenient. Recognition. He has changed. Of course he has. Years have passed. His shoulders are broader beneath the fitted uniform. His dark hair is longer than he used to wear it, falling carelessly across his forehead. Sea-green eyes find mine from across the clearing. He has always been handsome. Cassian's beauty has never felt threatening. It lives in the ease of his smile. In the warmth he carries into rooms. In the quiet confidence that makes people lean closer without realizing they have. Charm follows him like perfume. Subtle. Natural. Never weaponized.

His raised hand falls. "Eirea?"

My name sounds different in his voice. Familiar enough to hurt. I cannot move.

"Cassian."

Nyra looks between us. Rowan does too. Neither says anything. For once. Cassian crosses the clearing slowly, as though approaching too quickly might make me disappear. He stops several feet away. His gaze moves over my face. The years between us. The things never said. Then he smiles. Small. Stunned. "Gods."

A breath of laughter escapes me. "You're here." I say. "So are you." He smiles. "I didn't know."

"I know."

If he had known I was coming, he would have found a way to tell me. Unless someone prevented him. The possibility darkens the warmth of the moment. Cassian's eyes flick briefly toward the Vaelith crest on my training uniform. Then back to me. Understanding passes between us without either naming it. My father. Always my father.

"You actually got in," he says.

I stare at him. "That sounds insulting."

His smile widens. "There she is.

The expression is so familiar that, for one dangerous second, we are sixteen again. Sitting beside the river behind the summer estates. His hand in mine. Laughing too quietly because we believed secrecy could make us safe. Then my father's voice enters the memory. "You will end this." And I had. No argument. No goodbye worthy of what Cassian had meant to me. Only a letter with three cold sentences dictated by fear and duty.

His smile softens. Not accusing. Cassian has never been cruel enough to make another person bleed simply because he was wounded. That may make it worse.

Nyra clears her throat gently. I remember we are not alone.

"Right." I turn toward them. "Cassian, this is Nyra Valenne and Rowan Hart.

Cassian inclines his head. "Cassian Solmere." He smiles.