CHAPTER 52: NAMES ON PAPER

We set the evidence chain at the spire base like Liora taught: bag to tray, seal; tray to ledger, sign; ledger to lockbox, witness. No speeches. No guesses. Only what we saw.

Liora read my wording and nodded once. "Good—’vane twitch when Mira leaned, corrected with pick, two-count, no torque.’ Keep writing like that."

Mira held up the vial bag. "Cork cut has a draw-knife shear line," she said. "Not city stock. And the badge-ring’s break is clean. Snapped with a bar, not worn."

"Write it," Liora said. "Marker, not theory."

Dorian stepped close enough to be heard and not feel like he was announcing. "Your flow feels heavier in the heels," he said to me. "Your clicks are cleaner. Keep it that way."

"Will," I said. It was a feeling, not a number. He left it at that.

Pierce drew two lines on the board. "Restitution: two hours credited to Valcrey, one commend mark to Mira Kade, one to Lyra Faewyn. Cell Two the same where it fits. No debate in the yard."

People didn’t clap. They watched the lockbox lid shut. That was better.

Gareth ambushed me at the quad with two bowls of broth. "Stop walking like you don’t have legs," he said. "Sit. Eat."

We sat on a cart tongue. The broth was hot and salty and good. He bumped my shoulder. "They said you planted a vane with a toothpick."

"Bone pick," I said.

"Same thing," he grinned. "Looked neat from the rope."

Mira slid in with her slate, eyes bright. "The badge-ring stamp is a contractor’s mark from North Quarter," she said. "I can cross-check vendor ledgers if Pierce signs the request."

"He will if Liora asks," I said. "Keep it clean. No guesses."

Lyra arrived with a sheet. "Refuge SOP update for audits," she said. "Add: ’If wardline flickers, intake pauses; headcount continues; door stays clear.’ Sign?"

I read it. Tight. Useful. No noise. I signed. She added her name under mine and tucked the sheet away. A half-smile tried to live on her mouth. Her ears went pink. She pushed the smile away like a stray hair and looked at Gareth’s bowl instead. "Finish that," she said, and left.

Gareth slurped and smirked. "She likes that you don’t make her job a stage."

"I like that she keeps people alive," I said.

Back at the workshop bench, I set the Bone Warden on blocks. Its boar chassis creaked at the hip pins. I shaved a hair off each pin and rubbed a little wax on the axle. I pressed the joint and rolled the wheel. It moved quiet. Good. I reinforced two ribs on the belly with a shallow brace so it would hold shape when we asked it to be a wedge against wind.

Hollow watched from the beam with the patience of a cat made of chalk. I tapped his skull. "We’ll keep the Moth to twelve seconds, then down," I told him. "I’m not losing fingers to fuzz."

I set the Moth on my palm. "Wake." It lifted and held. Eight... nine... ten... eleven... twelve. "Down." It settled light. No buzz in the leash. Clean.

Ariadne found me at the door with her clipboard and a calm face. "I read your log," she said. "Clear. Concise." She ticked a box on my restitution sheet. "Two hours credited. Also: teach three first-years the rope splice you used at Convoy. I want five signed verifications by tomorrow evening."

"Three students, five signatures?" I asked.

"Two splices each to count," she said. "I want their hands to know it."

"Understood."

She looked at the Moth on my palm. "That is small," she said.

"That’s the point," I said.

"Keep it small," she replied, and moved on.

Seraphine matched my step by the arch. White hair like frost, amethyst eyes soft. "Busy week," she said. "Contractors talk. Donors listen. Be careful where you point findings. Gates are politics as much as stone."

"Change your methods," I said. "I’ll help fix what can be fixed. The offer stands."

She smiled a practiced smile. "You do love conditions."

"I love people not getting hurt," I said.

She drifted away. Her silk didn’t catch on anything. That was a talent.

Pierce pinned a notice to the board with two firm thumbs. "Second Practical Evaluation," he read for the crowd that had already started pushing near. "Convoy Under Crosswinds. Two days. No rune-lamps. Points for coordination, restraint, simple fixes. Unsafe discharge is a penalty, not a flourish."

Aldric groaned without meaning to. Pelham stared at the word restraint like it was new. Gareth bumped my shoulder. "Your kind of day," he said.

"Hope so," I said.

I checked the Warden again. The pins were quiet. The roll was smooth. The Moth held twelve seconds and then went down like it understood why. The Sapper tapped in time with my breath. My leash hummed steady and didn’t bite.

Lyra came by the rope rack with two commoners in tow. "Show them the splice," she said, no fuss.

I showed them. "Pinch the tail. Dress the knot. It should slide when you tell it to and bite when you load it." They did it. Their first knots slipped. Their second knots held. Lyra signed the first two lines on Ariadne’s sheet without commentary. That was her version of praise.

A runner sprinted across the quad and skidded at Liora’s boots. He held out a sealed tube. She broke the seal and read. Her face didn’t change. Her voice did—lower, faster.

"Gate Four," she said to Pierce. "Resin trace. Wardline flicker. Now."

Pierce’s jaw set. "Teams?"

Liora didn’t look around. "Valcrey," she said. "Veyron. Cold kits. With me."

Cael was already stepping away from a practice circle. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t look at anyone. He grabbed a quiet bag and came to my side like it was the only move left on the board.

I slid the Moth tin into my pocket, shouldered the Warden’s harness, and checked the Lantern’s clasp. The quad seemed to lean toward Gate Four. Wind slid through the arch and carried a faint line of iron-pine. It was gone a breath later.

"Move," Liora said, already in motion.

We moved.