CHAPTER 67: LITTLE FIXES, BIG TRUTHS

The afternoon wasn’t glory. It was splices and headcounts.

Ariadne met me at Refuge with her clipboard and a fresh page slotted under the last sheet. "One hour," she said. "Record entry, exit, and any line stops. Use the new SOP: wardline flicker, pause intake, continue count, keep the door clear."

"Copy," I said.

She looked at my cheek. "You should have let the nurse stitch that."

"Salve," I said, holding up the tin.

"Better than your pride," she said dryly. Then, softer: "I read your statement. Clean."

"Plain words," I said.

She wrote something on her form that wasn’t for me and then left me with Lyra and two commoners who had learned not to gawk.

Lyra didn’t waste time. "Door," she said. "You’re on call-and-count."

We fell into rhythm. "Ten in," I called. She ticked. "Five out." She ticked. A stalled wagon down the lane held us a minute; we paused intake, kept count, and kept the door clear. No one tried to argue. Clear rules make people willing.

"Good," Lyra said. She didn’t look up. "You make it easy."

"You make it work," I said.

Her ears went pink. "Don’t say that in a yard."

"I’ll say it here," I said.

She glanced at my cheek. "Hurts?"

"A little."

She withdrew a packet. "Tea blend. For sleep when your head refuses. Don’t mix with wine."

"You think I drink?" I asked.

"I think you think too loud," she said, then checked the line again.

We finished the hour clean. She signed Ariadne’s sheet. "Four of five," she said.

"I’ll teach another splice after dinner," I said.

She nodded. "I’ll send two."

Ariadne reappeared at the doorway, scanned the ledger without being invited, and nodded once. "Good. I’ll present this to ops in the morning."

"Anything from Discipline?" I asked.

"Consequences stand," she said. "And the sponsor quietly offered to pay for a new wand."

"Of course he did," I said.

She looked at me, eyes cool. "You didn’t enjoy breaking it."

"No," I said. "I enjoyed stopping him."

"Keep that order alive," she said. "For the family. For you."

In the yard, Cael worked footwork with Marcus—the kind of simple drill people skip when they want to look strong. Clean steps. Honest stops. No waste. I joined for the last set. He didn’t adjust to slow down. I didn’t ask him to.

After, we sat and wrapped wrists. Marcus glanced at my cheek. "Neat work," he said. "Do you always cut tools instead of hands?"

"If I can," I said.

He nodded. "Good habit."

Cael bumped my shoulder. "You felt different."

"I know," I said. "I’ll hold it if I can."

"You’d better," he said, and smiled with half his mouth.

We traded two rounds with sabres. He still took me apart when he wanted, but it was less humiliating and more instructive. My guard didn’t wander. My hips didn’t betray me. When he pressed, I didn’t drown myself in cold. I gave it just enough to answer his push and no more. It felt like walking a beam where my feet finally respected the line.

"Again tomorrow," he said.

"Again," I said.

Evening settled. The academy breathed in its orderly way. I sat on the wall near the training yard and let my mind try to be quiet. It wasn’t. It went to places it liked to avoid. Lila’s blue sweater. Max’s dinosaur. Nora’s serious face over a spelling test. They were facts that hurt because I wanted them to stop being facts and become people again. They wouldn’t.

A shadow fell across my boots. Liora stood with two paper cups.

"Tea," she said. "Lyra prepared it. I stole one for you."

I took it. "Thank you."

She sat without asking. "You looked like a man arguing with the sky."

"I was," I said.

She sipped. "Cael told me you clicked something today."

"I think so."

"Good. Keep it small. You like the feeling of control. Don’t chase it as a drug."

"I won’t."

She studied the yard. "You and Cael are very different kinds of heavy," she said. "He plants. You thread. Useful together."

"Verrin thought we’d trip over each other," I said.

"Most people do," she said. "A thing to remember: the Academy rewards show. The world rewards outcome. Keep choosing the second and survive the first."

I nodded. "You sound like you’ve given that speech before."

"I have," she said. "To people who didn’t listen." Her smile was small and tired. "Walk with me."

We circled the quad. She didn’t talk much. When she did, it was all plain things. Watch your leash. Keep the Moth under ten seconds. Don’t add a fourth thread unless your life is on the floor. Write what you saw, not what you want to be true.

At the arch, she stopped. "One more," she said. "You’re allowed to be charming. Use it to make rooms calmer, not hotter."

I blinked. "I didn’t realize I was—"

"You are," she said. "The modern way you speak is disarming. Use it well." A pause. "And be careful with Lyra. She does not have room for games."

"I know," I said.

"Good." She left with that, hair pale under the lanterns.

Night class was simple glyph work. My hand wrote cleaner than my head felt. After, I taught two first-years the rope splice. They fumbled and laughed and then got it right. I signed Ariadne’s sheet. Fifth line, done.

On my way back, Seraphine waited by the fountain, white hair bright even in dim light. No sponsor now. Just her.

"Congratulations," she said. "Top method marks. Sponsors like that. Families like that more."

"Families like not paying fines," I said.

She smiled, soft. "Come by tomorrow. I want to discuss a donor dinner. Polite faces. Good impressions. Opportunities."

"Change your methods," I said again, because the line had weight now. "Then I’ll listen first."

She stepped closer, close enough to smell her perfume—snow and something sweet. "You’re different," she said. "It suits you."

"I’m trying to be better," I said.

"That, too," she murmured. "Good night, Armand." She left before I could answer.

I stood alone by the fountain until the water sounded like rain instead of coins.

Sleep came. It wasn’t kind, but it came.