Havenwood Academy — Eastern Observation Hall
The hall was quiet in the way only administrative spaces ever were—no students, no drills, no urgency allowed to leak into the stone.
Professor Everhart stood at the central table, sleeves rolled once past his wrists, fingers resting lightly on a stack of thin crystal slates. None of them were glowing.
That bothered him.
Instructor Fayne noticed before he said anything.
"You've been staring at those for five minutes," she said, leaning against one of the tall columns. "Either the data's lying, or you're waiting for it to apologize."
Everhart didn't look up. "If it were lying, it would be more consistent."
Master Chawng snorted quietly from where he sat on the low bench near the wall. He hadn't bothered with the table. He never did. "Numbers don't apologize. People do."
Everhart finally lifted one of the slates, tapped it once. Still nothing. "This should have updated an hour ago."
Fayne straightened slightly. "Delay?"
"Yes. But not the usual kind."
"That's your favorite kind," she replied dryly.
Everhart ignored the comment. "Three separate tracking arrays. All of them stabilized. No surge. No collapse. No error correction."
Chawng folded his arms. "Say that again, slower."
"They didn't miss the window," Everhart said. "They moved past it."
Fayne frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Traversal windows don't get skipped. They close."
"Exactly."
Silence settled for a beat.
Fayne pushed off the column and walked closer to the table. "Show me."
Everhart slid a slate toward her. She glanced down, eyes narrowing. "That's… steady."
"Yes."
"No drift?"
"None."
Chawng tilted his head. "You're saying they didn't stall."
"I'm saying they're not where they're supposed to be," Everhart replied. "And they didn't get there the wrong way."
Fayne exhaled through her nose. "So what are we calling this? Delay? Detour?"
Everhart hesitated. "At the moment? Inconvenience."
Chawng barked a quiet laugh. "That's a bad word coming from you."
Fayne shot him a look. "What's your read, Master?"
Chawng didn't answer immediately. He was staring at nothing in particular, gaze unfocused. "When a fighter stops where you expect him to stumble, you don't call it luck. You call it adjustment."
Everhart glanced at him. "Adjustment implies agency."
Chawng met his eyes. "It usually does."
Fayne crossed her arms. "You're talking about Drake."
Chawng didn't deny it.
Everhart's jaw tightened slightly. "We don't have evidence—"
"No," Fayne cut in. "But we have pattern."
She tapped the slate. "Kara's team doesn't drift like this. Not under her leadership. If they were lost, we'd see it. If they were stalled, we'd see strain."
"And we don't," Everhart said quietly.
Chawng shifted his weight, standing now. "Which means they're still moving."
"Or being moved," Fayne said.
Everhart shook his head. "If that were the case, the arrays would react. External pressure leaves residue."
Chawng looked at him sharply. "Unless the pressure isn't external."
That earned him both their attention.
Everhart's fingers curled slightly against the table. "Explain."
Chawng shrugged once. "You train long enough, you learn the difference between someone being pushed… and someone pushing too early."
Fayne's expression changed. "You think he's compensating."
"I think he doesn't like waiting," Chawng replied. "And I think he's learned how to act without being told not to."
Everhart frowned. "That doesn't align with his assessments."
"No," Chawng agreed. "It aligns with his posture."
Fayne let out a slow breath. "If he's stepping in before the team fully adjusts—"
"—then the cost won't hit him first," Chawng finished. "It'll spread."
Everhart went still.
"That would explain the steady read," he said. "No spikes. No breaks. Just… compression."
Fayne rubbed her temple. "I don't like that."
"Good," Chawng said. "Means you're paying attention."
Everhart glanced at another slate, tapped it harder this time. Still nothing. "We should intervene."
Fayne's head snapped up. "No."
Chawng raised a brow. "Quick answer."
"They're not in danger," Fayne said. "Not yet. And if we step in now, we change the conditions."
Everhart hesitated. "We're responsible for—"
"—making sure they survive," Fayne cut in. "Not making sure they're comfortable."
Chawng nodded once. "Let it play."
Everhart exhaled slowly. "If we wait too long—"
"—then we learn something real," Fayne replied. "If we step in too early, all we learn is that we panicked."
Silence again.
Everhart looked down at the inert slates. "If this continues, the system will reclassify the event."
"As what?" Chawng asked.
Everhart didn't answer right away. "As progression."
Fayne's jaw tightened. "That's not a category we like."
"No," Everhart said. "It isn't."
Chawng folded his arms again. "Then stop trying to like it."
Fayne turned toward the tall windows overlooking the training grounds. Students moved below, unaware. Routine. Safe.
"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "Kara won't break under this."
"I know," Everhart said.
"And Drake?" she asked.
Chawng's gaze followed hers. "He won't either."
"That's not what I asked," Fayne said.
Chawng was silent for a moment. Then: "No. He won't break. He'll just learn faster than he should."
Everhart closed his eyes briefly.
"That may be worse."
"Only if you're afraid of what he learns," Chawng replied.
Fayne turned back to the table. "So what's the call?"
Everhart straightened. "Passive observation. No escalation."
Chawng nodded.
Fayne hesitated, then sighed. "All right. But if this shifts—"
"—we reassess," Everhart said. "Immediately."
She glanced at the silent slates one more time. "I don't like quiet problems."
Everhart allowed himself a thin smile. "Neither do I."
Everhart remained seated, fingers steepled, posture unchanged. If the quiet bothered him, he didn't show it.
Chawng broke first.
"How long," he asked, "since that number last moved."
The scribe at the side hesitated. "Since the second recalibration."
"That's not an answer," Chawng said calmly.
She swallowed. "Nineteen days."
Fayne exhaled through her nose. "Say it again."
"Nineteen," the scribe repeated. "Approaching twenty."
Everhart finally leaned back. The chair creaked softly beneath him. "And before that?"
"Four days between shifts," the scribe said. "Then six. Then ten."
Chawng's jaw tightened. "Spacing's widening."
"Yes," Everhart agreed. "Which means whatever window we thought we were tracking no longer applies."
Fayne crossed her arms. "Or they're compensating well enough that the system doesn't register it as deviation anymore."
"That would be comforting," Everhart said mildly.
She shot him a look. "And you don't believe that."
"No," he said. "I believe it means the deviation is being absorbed."
Silence followed that. Not heavy — just careful.
Chawng turned his attention to the second slate, the one Fayne had pointedly ignored since arriving. "Show me the comparative drift."
The scribe hesitated again. "Sir—"
"Show me," Chawng repeated.
She tapped the crystal. The projection shifted.
Fayne's eyes narrowed. "That's not possible."
Everhart studied the display, slower than the others. "It is," he said. "If they've passed the point where return is treated as an option."
Chawng folded his arms. "Say it plainly."
Everhart met his gaze. "They're no longer delayed. They're committed."
Fayne grimaced. "You're basing that on absence."
"I'm basing it on persistence," Everhart corrected. "Delay fluctuates. Drift stabilizes."
Chawng let out a short breath. "Then we're past the early window."
"Yes," Everhart said. "By at least a week."
That landed.
Fayne turned back to the slate. "So we're looking at—what—three weeks?"
"Just over," the scribe said. "Assuming linear time."
Chawng barked a quiet laugh. "Assuming."
Everhart didn't smile this time. "It's enough."
"For what?" Fayne asked.
"For consequences," he said.
"If they're still moving, if vitals are stable, if nothing's spiking—what exactly are we panicking about?"
"No one said panic," Chawng replied. "We said attention."
Fayne turned on him. "Attention leads to intervention."
"And intervention leads to rupture," Everhart said. "Which is why we haven't done it."
She stared between them. "Then what are we doing?"
Everhart answered without hesitation. "Counting."
Chawng nodded once. "And narrowing."
The scribe frowned. "Narrowing what, sir?"
"Options," Chawng said. "Ours."
Fayne looked back at the projection, at the stubborn, unmoving figures. "If it's been three weeks for them…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Everhart did it for her. "Then it's been longer elsewhere."
Chawng turned his head slightly. "How much longer."
Everhart didn't answer immediately.
"Enough," he said at last, "that we won't recognize the state they left behind."
Fayne frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only honest one," Everhart replied. "We don't have synchronized reference anymore."
Chawng folded his arms. "Then why are you certain at all?"
Everhart glanced toward the far wall, where one of the older slates sat inactive—its surface etched with faded sigils no one used anymore.
"Because Seraphina was," he said.
Fayne stilled. "She gave you a differential?"
"An estimate," Everhart corrected. "Before she left. Based on prior tethering events, residual drift, and the last stable overlap she and James experienced."
Chawng's eyes narrowed. "And you trusted it."
"I trusted her," Everhart said. "Enough to know she wouldn't give us a number unless she was confident within a margin."
Fayne exhaled slowly. "So this isn't exact."
"No," Everhart said. "But it's consistent."
Chawng tilted his head. "Consistent with what."
"With acceleration," Everhart replied. "And with the seal."
That landed.
Fayne's jaw tightened. "Zephyrus' seal was calibrated to Earth's cycle."
"Yes," Everhart said. "Which means every delay here is magnified elsewhere."
Chawng was quiet for a moment. Then: "So James and Seraphina didn't just leave early."
"No," Everhart said. "They left on purpose."
Fayne crossed her arms. "To buy time."
"To prepare," Everhart agreed. "To learn what can't be learned while waiting."
Chawng let out a low breath. "And us?"
Everhart looked back at the silent slates. "We hold the line. We observe. And we don't interfere unless the pattern breaks."
"And if it does?" Fayne asked.
Everhart didn't hesitate.
"Then it won't matter how much time they gained," he said. "Only whether they used it well."
Silence settled again—not comfortable, not tense. Just weighted.
Somewhere beyond Havenwood, time was no longer keeping pace.
And everyone in the room knew it.