"Fourteen-thirty, huh? Mine is at three."
There was a long pause.
Then—
"…Wait," Mireilla said slowly, brow knitting. "You just said three."
Toven narrowed his eyes. "As in, again? Another three A.M. exam?"
Even Caeden looked faintly alarmed, water glass halfway to his lips.
Lucavion blinked. Then laughed, a soft, startled sound. "What? No. No—three P.M. This time it's civilized."
Mireilla groaned, slumping forward with theatrical exasperation. "Clarify your horrors next time."
"I was about to have a moment of mourning for your soul," Marian added, gesturing dramatically. "Even I have limits to how much injustice I'm willing to accept before breakfast."
Lucavion set down his knife with a soft clink and leaned slightly toward Elara—Elowyn—across the table. His tone lost a touch of its usual lilt, gentling like silk drawn across rough stone.
