Dawn came clear and cold. The yard smelled like wet rope and iron. Students moved in quiet lines the way they do after a real scare—talk low, eyes up, no extra swagger. Verrin's name didn't pass lips, but everyone felt the shape of it.
I ran heel pulses on the rear flags: four in, hold two, three out. The leash hummed steady. Two threads clean. I didn't reach for a third. Not here.
Cael joined me without a word. We set a light spar—three passes at half speed, no tricks. He pressed my guard, I reset my feet, he smiled once at the change he felt and didn't say it.
On the third pass he stepped off and rolled his shoulder. "You held three, yesterday," he said, like noting weather.
"Long enough," I answered.
He nodded. That was the whole speech. It felt better than clapping.
A runner in gray found me by the trough. "Saintess requests you," he said. "Ethics room two."
"Now?"
"Now."
