Arlo stepped in.
He paused just inside the doorway like he'd forgotten how doors worked.
His glasses sat straight. His hair was neat. His uniform was tidy.
He looked like he'd spent the entire week practicing how to be a proper person again.
Then his eyes locked on Mya.
His whole body jolted—small, but obvious.
Mya froze too.
Arlo's face went red so fast it was almost impressive.
He looked down at the floor and started walking.
Straight toward us.
My stomach tightened automatically, like my body remembered the punch even if my mind wanted to forget it.
Arlo stopped at the edge of Mya's desk.
For a heartbeat, he didn't speak.
His fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to adjust his glasses, but he didn't dare move.
Then he inhaled sharply.
"Mya," he said, voice too formal. Too stiff. Like he was delivering a report to a judge.
Mya blinked up at him.
Arlo's throat bobbed.
"I…" He swallowed. "I'm sorry. For last week."
The room went quiet in a way only kids could make it quiet—sudden and sharp, like everyone had turned their heads at once.
I could feel eyes on us from every direction.
Mya's cheeks turned pink.
"Oh," she said softly.
Arlo rushed on, words tumbling. "I shouldn't have thrown it. It was rude. It was—" he winced, like the next word physically hurt him— "mean."
Someone in the back snickered.
Then Lina whispered loudly, "Arlooooo~"
A wave of giggles rippled through the room.
Mya's eyes widened, flustered.
Arlo looked like he wanted to crawl under the desk and die.
"Trey," someone muttered near the front, it was Milo, amused, "did you punch him into being polite?"
My face heated.
Arlo's eyes flicked to me—half panic, half accusation—like this is your fault too.
Then Arlo straightened, as if remembering he had a pride to defend.
He cleared his throat.
"And also," he said, voice rising like he was trying to climb out of embarrassment by force, "your cookie was… very good."
Silence.
Not the good kind.
The kind where everyone could hear the lie land on the floor and flop around.
Even I knew Arlo was lying.
Arlo's acting was terrible. His voice went too bright. His eyes didn't meet Mya's. His words sounded like he'd read them off a card.
Bruen coughed, suspiciously like laughter.
But Mya's face lit up.
Her shoulders eased like she'd been holding a tight knot for a week and someone finally loosened it.
"Really?" she asked, hopeful.
Arlo flinched.
"Yes," he said, voice cracking slightly. "It was… shocking."
I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't make a noise.
Mya clasped her hands together. "Then I'll make more!"
Arlo went pale.
It happened so fast it was almost funny.
His eyes widened behind his glasses like he'd just been told he had to fight the Abyss alone.
He swayed—actually swayed—like the floor moved.
Then he snapped upright too quickly.
"Oh! No, um—" He stuttered, panic leaking through every syllable. "You don't have to! I mean, you can, but—not for me—because—"
His brain visibly scrambled for a reason.
He darted a look at me like I was a lifeline.
Then he grabbed it.
"You should give them to Trey," Arlo blurted.
The whole class erupted into giggles again.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
Mya turned to me, eyes sparkling.
Arlo kept talking, faster now, desperate.
"Trey's hurt," he said. "And also—also I have an allergy."
A beat.
Lina whispered, "To cookies?"
Bruen snorted.
Arlo's ears turned red.
"Yes!" he insisted, doubling down like confidence could replace truth. "A… sweets allergy. Very serious."
It was the worst acting I'd ever seen.
Even Bruen looked entertained.
But Mya didn't laugh.
She looked concerned—then determined.
"Oh no," she said. "Then yes, I'll make them for Trey instead."
I had a sudden, vivid memory of last week's cookie.
The smell alone had been aggressive.
Not like sweet bread.
Like… burned sugar and salt and something that reminded me of old soup left too long near a fire.
I hadn't actually eaten it. I'd barely touched it.
And Arlo's dramatic "poison" comment—back then—had sounded ridiculous, but also weirdly accurate in the way your body could tell something was a bad idea.
My stomach did something unpleasant.
At the same time…
Mya was looking at me like she was offering treasure.
Her baking wasn't malicious.
It was effort.
It was heart.
Which meant saying no felt like stepping on something fragile.
I swallowed.
Then I forced my mouth to work.
"Okay," I said.
Mya's face brightened like sunrise.
Arlo looked like a man watching someone else volunteer to take his execution.
Then Arlo snapped into joy so sudden it gave me whiplash.
"Trey!" he said, grinning wide. "You're a lifesaver!"
He threw both hands up like he'd won a war.
"I owe you one, my friend!" he declared, loud enough to make everyone laugh again.
Mya giggled, flustered.
I sat there, smiling weakly, feeling both terrified and weirdly excited.
Because… maybe this time the cookie wouldn't be lethal.
Maybe.
***
The door opened again.
The room snapped quiet like a string pulled tight.
Miss Nanda stepped in.
Her eyes swept the class in one sharp pass—Mya's pink cheeks, Arlo's too-wide grin, my sling.
She sighed.
It wasn't an angry sigh.
It was the sigh of someone who'd woken up and found the world still full of children.
"It seems," she said flatly, "the problem has been addressed."
No one spoke.
Miss Nanda's gaze pinned Arlo and me like nails through paper.
"Have you both apologized to Mya?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Arlo and I said at the same time.
The class snickered softly.
Miss Nanda didn't smile.
"Good," she said. "Then we move on."
She set her book on the front desk, then paused as if remembering something unpleasant.
"One more thing," she said.
The room leaned in without realizing it.
"It seems Lyan will not be attending class for a while," Miss Nanda said.
A ripple ran through the room.
Mya's eyes widened slightly, then flicked to the empty seat.
My stomach tightened.
Miss Nanda's gaze sharpened.
"Do not ask me why," she said, voice turning colder. "It is not your concern. Do not speculate. Do not gossip."
The room went still.
Then she added, like she was swatting another fly out of the air:
"And Finn will also be absent. He is occupied caring for his father."
That got a different reaction—less fear, more confusion.
Finn's empty seat suddenly felt heavier.
Miss Nanda didn't let anyone speak long enough for questions to form.
"Now," she said, clapping once. "Combat training."
A few kids perked up. Milo—who always looked like he wanted to swing something heroic—nearly vibrated.
Miss Nanda's eyes landed on my sling again.
They narrowed slightly.
"Everyone," she ordered, "stand. Bring your practice gear. Follow me to the training ground."
Chairs scraped.
Feet thudded.
Wooden swords and training sticks were grabbed from the storage rack.
I stood more slowly, ribs complaining, arm hanging useless in the sling.
Mya hovered beside me like she wasn't sure if she should help or pretend I was fine.
I chose for her.
"I can walk," I murmured.
She nodded, still worried.
We filed out into the corridor and down the stairs, the noise of the guild rising as we descended.
The training area opened up like a different world.
Stone lanes under a roofed section where you could drill without rain.
And beyond that, the grass field—green, uneven, alive—stretching toward the wall where lanterns hung like patient eyes.
The air smelled like sweat and dirt and morning.
It smelled like effort.
Miss Nanda stopped at the edge of the field and turned.
"Pairs," she snapped. "Quickly. If you cannot find a partner, you train alone and I will make you regret it."
Kids scrambled.
Milo moved first—of course he did—half-jogging like this was the start of an epic duel. He swung his eyes around the field and spotted Lina hovering near the edge with her practice sword held like it was a broom she didn't want to touch.
"Lina!" he called, bright and eager. "Pair with me!"
Lina's face pinched. She took one step back, then another, like Milo's enthusiasm had a radius.
"No," she said quickly. "Nope. Absolutely not."
Milo blinked. "What? Why not?"
"I'm not into combat," Lina said, and her tone made it sound like combat was a kind of vegetable. She lifted her hands in surrender and scurried toward the sideline before anyone could argue with her. "I'll watch. I'll—uh—learn with my eyes."
Miss Nanda's head turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
Lina froze mid-step.
"I didn't say you could leave," Miss Nanda said.
Lina swallowed. "I'm… not leaving, ma'am. I'm just—standing over there."
Miss Nanda stared at her for a long, heavy beat—then exhaled through her nose like Lina was a mildly annoying problem she'd already solved ten times.
"Fine," she said. "Sideline. Observe. If I see you daydreaming, you will run until your legs forget your name."
"Yes, ma'am," Lina squeaked, then hurried to the edge of the field and planted herself there, arms hugged tight around her practice sword like it was protection, not a tool.
Milo turned back, suddenly partnerless, and his heroic momentum deflated half an inch.
Bruen stepped forward like a wall deciding to walk.
"I'll take him," Bruen said, voice flat.
Milo's eyes lit up again. "Yes! Bruen! Great choice!"
Bruen looked down at him, unimpressed. "Don't scream."
Milo nodded instantly. "I will scream internally."
Bruen didn't react. He just handed Milo a wooden sword with the same calm inevitability as handing someone their own fate.
Mya hesitated, then looked at me.
I lifted my sling slightly, helpless.
"I can't," I said quietly.
Mya's face fell.
Miss Nanda saw it immediately.
She walked over, steps precise, and stopped in front of me.
Her gaze traveled from my sling to my posture to my feet.
"Your left arm is broken," she stated.
"Yes, ma'am."
She looked unimpressed by the fact I still existed anyway.
"Then you will train what you still have," she said. "Legs. Stance. Balance. Breath."
My throat tightened.
"Yes, ma'am."
Miss Nanda turned her head slightly, eyes slicing toward the class.
"Mya," she called.
Mya jumped. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You will pair with Arlo today," Miss Nanda said. "And you will hit him exactly as hard as I say."
Arlo went pale again.
The class laughed.
Mya flushed bright red.
"Yes, ma'am," she squeaked.
Miss Nanda's gaze returned to me.
"And you," she said, voice low enough that only I could hear, "will stop looking like you're waiting for permission to exist."
My spine straightened automatically.
Miss Nanda stepped back and raised her voice.
"First drill," she announced. "Footwork. Forward. Back. Left. Right. No crossing feet. No bouncing. Control."
She demonstrated once—simple, clean steps that made it look effortless.
Then she clapped again.
"Go."
The field filled with movement.
Wooden weapons swished.
Feet thudded on grass.
Miss Nanda stalked between students like a predator who fed on mistakes.
I positioned myself at the edge where I wouldn't trip anyone, set my feet the way I'd been shown months ago, and started stepping.
Forward.
Back.
Left.
Right.
The grass brushed my shoes with each shift. My ribs tugged when I turned too fast, like a warning snap of string, but I forced the motion to stay smooth anyway.
A shadow moved near the sideline.
Not Miss Nanda—too light, too hesitant.
I glanced over and saw Lina standing where she'd been told to "observe," clutching her practice sword like it was a prop she regretted being handed. Her eyes weren't on Bruen and Milo like they should've been.
They were on me.
I tried to ignore it.
I took another step.
Forward.
Back.
Lina edged closer until she was just outside the training lanes, still technically "on the sideline," but close enough that if Miss Nanda looked our way, Lina would look like she was inspecting the grass for educational purposes.
"Trey," Lina whispered.
I kept my eyes forward. "What."
Lina made a tiny offended sound. "Wow. So friendly."
I didn't answer. I shifted right.
Lina huffed, then lowered her voice anyway. "Why are you trying so hard?"
I stopped for half a heartbeat—just long enough for the question to sink in—then forced my feet to move again.
Forward.
Back.
"Because Miss Nanda will yell," I said.
"That's not it," Lina said immediately, like she'd already decided she knew me better than I knew myself. "You're… like—" she waved one hand vaguely at my sling, at the way I was sweating already, at the careful way I was holding my ribs— "you're hurt. And you're still doing it like you're… I don't know. Competing with the wall."
I didn't look at her, but my cheeks felt warm anyway.
"I'm not competing," I muttered.
"Then why?" Lina pressed, tilting her head. Her curiosity had sharp edges, like she couldn't stop herself from poking at things.
I took another step.
Left.
Right.
My breath came out tight.
Because if I answered honestly, it would make the ache in my chest real.
But Lina didn't leave. She just stared, waiting, like she could outlast my silence.
I exhaled, then said it anyway—quiet, so it wouldn't carry.
"I want to be strong," I said.
Lina blinked. "That's it?"
"No," I said, and the word came out harder than I meant. I swallowed and tried again, softer. "I want to be strong… so I can protect what's precious to me."
My feet kept moving even as my chest tightened.
Forward.
Back.
Lina went very still.
Her eyes widened in a way that made her look younger than she usually acted.
Then, slowly, a pink color crept up her cheeks like she'd been caught doing something embarrassing—like feeling something.
"Oh," Lina said, suddenly quieter. "That's… kind of—"
I didn't let her finish.
Because if she did, I might stop moving. I might let the words swell up and choke me.
And I couldn't afford that.
"And if I'm strong," I added, voice dipping lower, "then I can find Myrina."
Lina's blush froze.
I kept my eyes forward, but my throat tightened anyway.
"I can bring her home," I said.
For a moment, Lina didn't tease.
She didn't make a joke.
She just looked at me like she'd forgotten how.
Then Bruen's wooden sword smacked Milo's with a loud crack, and Milo yelped dramatically, and the noise snapped the world back into place.
Lina blinked fast, like she was clearing fog from her eyes.
Then—because Lina was Lina—she recovered by transforming into a menace.
Her mouth curled into a grin.
"Oooooh," she whispered, drawing the word out like it was a ribbon. "So that's what this is."
I frowned slightly, still stepping. "What."
Lina leaned in just enough to be annoying. "You're doing it for someone precious. A mysterious, missing someone. That's—" she pressed a hand to her chest theatrically— "so romantic."
"It's not romantic," I hissed, horrified.
Lina's grin widened. "He says, while declaring he'll become strong and bring her home."
"I said she's my sister," I snapped.
Lina tilted her head. "Still."
"There is no 'still'."
Lina giggled under her breath, eyes bright. "You're going to be one of those heroes in the stories, aren't you? The serious ones. The ones who glare at sunsets and say things like, 'I'll protect what's precious.'"
My face got hotter.
"I don't glare at sunsets."
"You totally would," Lina said confidently. "With your broken arm and your tragic backstory."
I shot her a look finally—flat and warning.
Lina only smiled more.
Then she softened a fraction, voice dropping just enough to sound almost sincere.
"…It's kind of cool," she admitted. Then, before I could react, she snapped right back into teasing. "Also, if you do start glaring at sunsets, tell me first. I want to watch."
"I'm not—" I started.
A sharp whistle cut across the field.
Miss Nanda's voice followed, crisp as a slap. "Trey. Stop turning your head. Your feet are not decorations."
My stomach dropped.
"Yes, ma'am," I said instantly, eyes forward again.
Lina retreated half a step, hands clasped behind her back like she'd been innocently observing the entire time.
But I could still feel her gaze on me—curious, bright, and now… a little different than before.
I kept stepping.
Forward.
Back.
Left.
Right.
And tried not to think about how saying Myrina's name out loud made everything inside me tighten—like a promise that still hadn't been paid.
I took another step.
Forward.
Back.
Then I felt it.
Not Miss Nanda's attention—hers was always a blade you could almost hear.
This was different.
A small, prickly pressure on the side of my face, like someone was staring holes into my ear.
I didn't turn my head. I'd already been scolded once. But my eyes shifted, just a little, using the corner of my vision.
Mya.
She was across the training ground with Arlo, both of them holding practice swords while Miss Nanda prowled between pairs. Mya's stance was mostly right—knees bent, feet planted—but her gaze wasn't on Arlo's weapon.
It was on me.
More specifically… on Lina near me.
Mya's eyebrows were drawn together in a way I'd never seen on her before. Not angry exactly. Just… tight. Like someone had pulled a string inside her.
When Lina giggled again—quietly, like she was trying to be sneaky—Mya's eyes narrowed.
Her cheeks pinked.
Then she snapped her attention back to Arlo so fast it looked like she'd been caught doing something wrong.
Arlo lifted his sword hesitantly, still looking like he expected the grass to explode.
Mya stepped forward.
Too fast.
Her practice sword whacked Arlo's with a sharp crack that echoed.
Arlo yelped. "Ow—!"
I flinched.
Mya didn't.
"Sorry," she said quickly, but her voice didn't sound sorry at all. It sounded… pointed.
Arlo blinked behind his glasses, confused and slightly betrayed. "I—uh—are we—"
"Guard," Mya snapped.
Arlo scrambled to lift his sword again.
Mya hit it a second time—harder.
Arlo stumbled back a step, eyes wide.
I stared, feet still moving because stopping meant Miss Nanda would notice, and Lina would definitely notice, and my ribs would definitely notice.
Mya hit Arlo again.
Arlo made a small, miserable sound.
Miss Nanda's head turned sharply.
For one terrifying heartbeat I thought she'd shout.
Instead her eyes flicked over Mya's posture, then Arlo's panic, then back.
"Better," Miss Nanda said, like she was approving the weather. "Arlo, stop dying. Mya, keep your stance."
Mya nodded stiffly.
Then—just once—she looked back over at me again.
Her eyes landed on Lina.
And this time, Mya's mouth did a strange thing—like it wanted to pout but refused on principle.
Heat crawled up my neck.
What did I do? I thought helplessly.
Lina's shoulder brushed the air beside me, and I could feel her smug grin without even looking.
I focused harder on my feet.
Forward.
Back.
Left.
Right.
And I tried very hard not to think about how Mya was hitting Arlo like he'd personally insulted her entire bloodline.
Somewhere in the chaos, a small part of me loosened.
Not joy.
Not yet.
But something like… normal.
Miss Nanda's shadow fell over me.
"Lower," she snapped.
I bent my knees more.
"Again," she ordered.
I stepped.
Forward.
Back.
Left.
Right.
In my pocket, the tavern token pressed against my coins.
One meal.
One rule.
One more thing I had to survive today.
And after class…
If I was brave enough…
I'd have to find someone ranked high enough to take me beyond the wall.
My foot slid.
I corrected it.
Miss Nanda's whistle cut the air like a blade.
"Again!" she shouted.
And I moved, because moving was the only way I knew to stay upright.