CHAPTER 36: DEBRIEF

The south infirmary smelled like soap and pine. Saintess Liora stood at the head table with a stack of forms and a box of inked stamps. Platinum hair tied back. Soft blue eyes steady, not warm, not cold.

"Plain language," she said. "Facts only. If you speculate, I make you rewrite. If you dramatize, I make you read it aloud to the ward."

We took seats. I wrote what happened, line by line. Loose bolt in Gate Six’s track; I lowered the tooth a finger to startle the leaper; vent vane stuck; Hollow tapped it; Cael set the floor with aura; I used point only; ward net closed; no injuries. I added time marks where I remembered them. I did not write what I guessed.

I handed the sheet over. Liora read, tapped one knuckle on the line about the point, and stamped. "Next time," she said, "call your point earlier. The wall hears better than I do."

"Yes, Saintess."

Proctor Pierce raised his slate and read to the room. "Scores stand. Night Run included. Blocking Refuge doors, unsafe. Discharging lightning into lines, unsafe. Do it again and you fail that section." He did not say Aldric’s name. The red mark under "unsafe discharge" next to Voss blue did it for him.

I stepped into the hall and found Ariadne waiting where the light hit hard. Gloves white. Chin set. She handed me a folder thin as a blade. "Restitution," she said. "Repay the diverted stipend by week’s end. Ten ethics hours each week, recorded and signed. Mentor two first-years for the whole term. Tasks, dates, and sign-offs are listed."

I opened it. The sums matched my memory. There were boxes to sign and boxes to initial. I signed on the stone sill so anyone could watch.

"You will keep receipts," she said. "I will keep copies."

"Done," I said. "Thank you."

Lyra crossed the hall with a Refuge badge on her collar and a ledger against her ribs. I matched her pace for three steps. "If the wardline fails at Refuge," I asked, "what comes first?"

"Space," she said. "Clear the threshold. Then headcount. Then lanes. Then treat the door like a patient until the Saints fix the spine."

"Noted," I said. She nodded without looking up and kept going. Professional. No need for extra words.

Cael joined me on the steps. "Good call on the bolt," he said. "You didn’t chase. That matters."

"You owned the floor," I said. "That made the options narrow."

He half-smiled. "You’re climbing."

"Stairs, not a ladder."

"Ladders kick," he said, and left me to the list in my folder.

A warden jogged up with a wrapped piece of metal. Liora unrolled a gate tooth on the table. A dark smear marked the track pin. She touched it with a gloved fingertip, held it to her nose, and looked at Pierce. "Iron-pine," she said. "Not normal wear."

Her eyes moved to me and Cael. "Quiet sweep," she said. "One hour. Pack light. If a bell rings, you’re done. Report to the south arch at dusk."

"Clear," we said.

I washed, changed, and took the long way to the bursar. Coins from the pouch Ariadne handed me hit the tray one by one. "Valcrey, stipend repayment," I said. The clerk wrote a receipt slow and careful. I read it, signed, and tucked it into the folder.

Back at the dorm, Pelham Gray waited by my door, awkward in new gloves. "If I’m assigned to you again," he said, "tell me where to stand. I won’t guess."

"Bring the gloves," I said. "Don’t lie about being tired."

He began a joke, stopped, and nodded. That was better than a speech.

I ate early. Plain stew. Quiet room. I read the restitution list again and wrote small notes in the margin next to each box: who to see, where to sign, how long each part might take. I kept the notes short. Long notes die in the field.

Dusk came. Under the south arch, Dorian Kest stood with his hands in his sleeves. Cloak cut for quiet. Face flat. "No bells," he said. "Use the building. Don’t wrestle it."

We crossed roofs and service walks. The campus after curfew had a different sound—pipes settling, flags ticking on poles. I quick-forged a small bone lantern with a cold glow the wards wouldn’t hate, named a Saint-kill notch, and tucked it away. I shaped a coin-sized bone crawler with a tapping foot and slipped it into a pouch. Two threads only. No fuzz.

Gate Four’s service corridor smelled like warm iron and soap. The lantern drew a low circle on the stones. We found our first wrong near a rain lip: a pin smeared with dark. Iron-pine again. I lifted it with a hook and bagged it. "Height’s off," Dorian said, touching the mark on the track. "Lower than a standing reach."

"Short worker," I said. "Or kneeling. Or lazy."

He grunted. "Or a glove that slips."

A gutter bend gave us a torn glove on a wire. The maker’s tag had been cut away. The stitch at the cuff was distinctive—tight two-tone thread. I didn’t say the shop name I thought of. He saw the look and didn’t ask. He bagged the glove.

Bats came off a beam. One dive. One slap with the flat. Hollow tapped the third on the brow ridge. Three quick motions. No blood. We kept moving.

A dorm window lifted ahead. Warm light. Seraphine leaned out. White hair bright. Amethyst eyes watchful. "You look very official," she said. "If you want an easier ending, I can arrange one."

"We’re collecting facts," I said. "Comfort later."

"You could give the facts to me," she said. "I know which doors open."

"Change your methods," I said, "and I’ll help you fix what you broke. Otherwise, no."

She smiled. "You learned to end a sentence."

"And start one," I said.

She shut the window without a sound.

We finished the loop: two more smears at different heights and angles. One hand changing habits, or several hands copying badly. Messy. We wrote it clean at the ward office. Dorian’s handwriting stayed level even when the ink wanted to run toward a name.

Back at the infirmary, Liora read our pages and added them to a file. "Thank you," she said. "Facts only. No hallway stories."

On the way out, I checked the board. My name sat above shame and below pride. It felt accurate. I hung my coat, set my boots by the door, and laid the folder flat on the desk.

Simple plan for tomorrow: repay the last line, show up to ethics, drill footwork, keep the leash clean. Make boxes turn into done.

I slept with the window cracked. The air tasted like rain and stone. The building made the old night noises buildings make. I let them count breaths for me.

At first light I woke to the sound of the yard ropes coming down off their hooks. The day would move fast. Good. I had work to do, and none of it needed applause. The work itself would be the only loud thing.