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"I'll do my best."

He nods once. "You should." He turns to leave. Then pauses. Just long enough to look at me over one shoulder. "Next time..." His golden eyes flick briefly toward the report still tucked beneath Caelen's arm. "Don't volunteer to stay behind."

I frown. "You read that?" I ask.

"I read enough."

Before I can answer he's already walking away. Hands in his pockets. Looking every bit like the grumpiest man in Varethia. Caelen watches him disappear. Then looks back at me.

"What?" I ask.

He smiles. Very slightly. "Nothing." He's lying. I know he is. I do not ask. Instead, I tighten my fingers around the borrowed water flask. It is still warm.

Chapter Eight

By Friday afternoon, brass tokens have begun appearing everywhere. Not openly. Never openly. They pass between hands beneath tables, inside books, across training yards and through crowded corridors with the efficiency of a secret everyone except first-years already understands. Some students receive one. Others do not. No one explains why.

I notice the first token during Magical Ethics. A second-year leaves a small brass coin beside a siren's notebook while Professor Neris writes across the board. The siren covers it immediately with her hand.

The second appears after Combat Theory. A wolf catches one without looking when an upper-year tosses it toward him. By lunch, Rowan has developed an obsession.

"They're invitations." She says.

Selena continues eating. "To what?"

"Something secret." Rowan answers.

"That is not evidence." Selena sighs.

"People only whisper when something is either secret or inappropriate."

Aricia glances toward her. "Sometimes people whisper because you are nearby."

Rowan ignores her. Nyra turns a spoon between her fingers, watching a pair of second-years disappear through the western doors.

"What if they're Trial rankings?" She asks.

"No," I say.

"How do you know?" She glares at me.

"Because everyone would be pretending not to care much louder."

Nyra considers this. "True."

Cassian sits across from us with one arm resting along the back of his chair. He has known about the tokens since breakfast. I know he has because a fourth-year siren slipped one into his palm before our first lecture. He has refused to explain it. Politely. Which is somehow more irritating than Dax refusing impolitely.

Rowan points at him. "You have one."

Cassian drinks his tea. "I do."

"What is it?"

"Brass."

Her eyes narrow. "You've changed."

"We've known each other four days." Cassian frowns. "Exactly."