By the time Aurelia reached the dining hall, someone had already decided she had destroyed the assessment chamber.
“I heard the ceiling came down,” a girl whispered near the entrance.
“No. She summoned something.”
“Her sister had to stop her.”
Azalea halted.
Aurelia caught her sleeve.
“Lunch.”
“They’re lying.”
“And I’m hungry.”
It was partly true. Hunger had returned as a hollow ache beneath the nausea. Professor Voss’s restorative draught had left the taste of bitter orange on her tongue, and her injured hand throbbed inside its wrapping.
Azalea looked toward the whispering students.
Then she followed Aurelia to the serving counter.
They found a table beside a window overlooking the lower practice courts. Rain silvered the glass. Somewhere below, students were running through drills under a shouted count.
Aurelia tore a piece of bread with her uninjured hand.
Across from her, Azalea watched.
“What?”
“You’re cutting it into examination-sized portions.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is when you’re upset.”
Aurelia set the bread down.
For a moment, the morning pressed against her again: Cassian’s eyes lowering to her scholarship ribbon, the crystal filling with color, stone flying toward her sister.
She closed her eyes.
Azalea’s foot touched hers beneath the table.
“You don’t have to talk.”
“Everyone else seems willing.”
“Then let them exhaust themselves.”
A tray landed beside Aurelia’s elbow.
A young Black woman with copper-colored box braids looked between them. A few beads rested against her brown cheeks, clicking softly as she tilted her head. Her uniform sleeves were rolled back to reveal a narrow copper cuff and three faint ink stains.
“I need clarification before I sit down.”
Azalea raised an eyebrow.
“About?”
“Which one of you frightened the entire faculty?”
Aurelia considered her soup.
“Apparently me.”
“Excellent.”
The stranger sat.
Azalea stared.
“Was that the clarification?”
“I’ve been assigned to Aurelia Moretti’s room. I wanted to establish whether I should unpack or update my emergency contacts.”
Despite herself, Aurelia smiled.
“Nia Brooks.”
“Aurelia.”
“I gathered.”
“Azalea.”
Nia studied them.
“Oh, that’s going to cause administrative problems.”
“It already has,” Azalea said.
Nia pushed a small dish of honey toward Aurelia.
“You look like someone who’s been given restorative tea. This helps.”
“How do you know?”
“I grew up with three healers.”
“Are you a healer?”
“Absolutely not. Too much responsibility, not enough explosions.”
Then Nia glanced at the gold cuffs in Aurelia’s twists. “Please tell me you brought something stronger than the shampoo in the welcome basket.”
“Grandmother packed enough supplies for a siege.”
“Good. I saw a bottle labeled universal cleansing and lost faith in the institution.”
Azalea laughed. The exchange was ordinary, familiar enough to make Aurelia’s shoulders loosen. Nia had not asked to inspect her magic. She had noticed something she might actually need.
* * *
East Residence smelled of cedar polish and somebody’s burnt toast.
Their room occupied the third floor. Two beds stood against opposite walls, with a shared desk beneath a tall window.
Nia’s side was already crowded with copper wire, glass beads, books, and a potted plant leaning toward an open packet of biscuits.
“Don’t feed her chocolate,” Nia said.
Aurelia paused.
“The plant?”
“She becomes judgmental.”
Azalea set the suitcase beside the empty bed.
On the quilt lay Aurelia’s welcome packet, a room key, and a cream envelope bearing the Moretti crest.
For a moment, she simply looked at it.
Azalea noticed.
“I didn’t put that there.”
Aurelia opened it.
Inside was a printed message welcoming family members to Blackhawk, signed by the four Moretti brothers.
Beneath it, someone had written:
Your sister is across the corridor. Please direct any settling-in concerns to the residence office.
No personal note.
No question about her hand.
Azalea read over her shoulder.
Her mouth tightened.
“They left flowers in my room.”
Aurelia folded the message.
“It’s fine.”
“No.”
Nia quietly began unpacking a drawer that did not appear to need unpacking.
Aurelia appreciated the effort.
She unpacked two satin pillowcases before anything else. One had been washed so often the burgundy had softened at the seams. Beneath it lay a small pouch her grandmother had stitched from leftover quilt fabric, filled with spare hair ties and the silver ring Aurelia had nearly left on the assessment table. She set her grandparents’ photograph beside the bed. Her grandmother was laughing beneath the pear tree. Her grandfather looked stern, though he was holding her gardening gloves.
Azalea touched the frame.
“They’ll be worried.”
“They don’t know yet.”
“They will.”
As though summoned, Aurelia’s phone rang.
Her grandmother’s name filled the screen.
Aurelia answered.
“Before you ask, I ate.”
“Good,” Isadora said. “Now tell me why your grandfather has received a formal inquiry about four elemental affinities.”
Aurelia sat on the bed.
Across the room, Nia stopped pretending not to listen.
“It was an assessment.”
“So I understand.”
“The basin broke.”
Her grandfather’s voice sounded behind Isadora.
“Was it wet clay or fired stone?”
Aurelia closed her eyes.
Azalea made a strangled sound.
“Fired stone,” Aurelia said.
“Then why was it carrying a live earth channel?”
The room grew quiet.
Aurelia straightened.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you feel instability before you introduced the element?”
“No. After I moved.”
A pause.
Then Alessandro came closer to the phone.
“Aurelia. Do you have the bracelet?”
“Yes.”
“Keep wearing it. It monitors sudden changes around you; the cold warns of an external draw. It cannot protect you from everything. Don’t investigate unfamiliar wards alone.”
Her gaze shifted toward the bandage on her hand.
“You think someone—”
“I think you should rest before making conclusions.”
It was not an answer.
She knew him too well to mistake it for one.
* * *
That night, Azalea returned to her own room only after extracting a promise that Aurelia would wake her if she felt ill.
Nia switched off the overhead light.
For a while, rain tapped the windows.
Then she said, “You don’t have to explain the family.”
Aurelia lay still.
“Thank you.”
“Or the boy.”
Her chest tightened.
“That obvious?”
“He’s walked past our door three times.”
Aurelia turned toward the wall.
Nia waited.
Then added, “On the fourth, I’ll charge admission.”
A laugh escaped Aurelia before she could stop it.
Afterward, when silence returned, it felt less lonely