The next morning.
The sun broke clean over Arcadia, casting long gold beams between the spires like divine threads pulling the academy awake. Fog still clung to the edges of the lower hills, but above the campus, the sky was sharp and blue—watchful.
Leonard stood once more within the observation gallery, his coat draped over one arm, the crescent pendant beneath his collar already warmed with passive charge.
Today felt heavier.
Not because of the pressure.
But because of the promise.
I'll watch her today.
He'd contacted Sylvie the night before—briefly. Just long enough to ask, calmly, which rotation block she was scheduled for.
Her response had been plain.
"Mid-day. Team Fourteen. Mist-Ruin variant."
Simple.
Efficient.
No questions. No lingering emotions. She hadn't asked why.
But something in the timing of her reply—precise, as if she'd anticipated the question—had made him pause.
She knew he hadn't come before.
She just wasn't going to say it.
