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You justify.

"Yes."

There. I don't have another answer. The wind changes. Cold from the northern mountains.

Varethia is still two away. Too far. Every minute feels offensive.

I reach for Eirea. Nothing. Expected. We're too far. Probably. I try anyway. Not words. Not exactly. The strange place between thought and instinct that has existed since Dominion. That pull. That awareness.

Sometimes faint. Sometimes strong enough to irritate me from across the Academy. Her. Nothing. I swallow. Distance. Obviously. Vyrael feels the change. His anger pauses. Only slightly. Again. I don't respond. I reach. Nothing.

"Faster." Vyrael doesn't argue with that. His wings drive down. The world moves.

The messenger didn't know the name. That's the problem. A first-year. That's all. One first-year disappeared from their bed after we left. Could be anyone. Probably is. There are hundreds. Eirea is one. Statistically— No. Fuck statistics.

She is prepared. I know. Better than most. I trained her. Vayne trained her. Caelen. Dax. Every professor who has thrown something impossible at her and watched her adapt. Ninety-four. One of the highest first-year readiness scores. First-Year Response command. Seventeen students. Weapons. BloodEcho.

Vampire strength. Her ability to notice everything except when she's exhausted. She can handle herself.

Caelen was right. She can do it without you .

I know. That wasn't the problem. I close my eyes for half a second. Idiot. "Yeah, well, I can't." I said that. Out loud. To her brother. Fuck. Caelen's face afterward. Almost worth dying for.

He knows.

I glare at nothing.

"Shut up."

He asked.

"I was there."

You did not answer.

"Excellent observation."

You did.

I tighten my grip.

"I didn't."

Vyrael's response is immediate.

You did.

"Fuck off."

The worst part is that I don't know what the answer is. No. Lie. I know exactly what the answer is. I just refuse to give it words. Words make things real. Words demand consequences. Words turn whatever exists between Eirea and me into something that can be named. Expected. Taken. Lost.

I reach for her again. Nothing. Distance. Still. We fly.

An hour passes. Maybe. Time becomes useless. Mountains. Forest. Darkness. Wind. Vyrael's body beneath mine. Every landmark gets us closer. Not fast enough.

My mind keeps returning to last night. Her room.

Books everywhere. Eirea sweaty from running and immediately offended that I'd put one on the wrong shelf. Good. Alive. Annoying. Talking. "You packed enough underwear?" I nearly laughed. She knew exactly what she was doing. Neither of us wanted to say anything that mattered. So she asked about underwear. Typical.