The first-years weren’t supposed to be loud after lights-out.

  That rule had lasted exactly three weeks.

  Now the common lounge between the dorm wings was unofficially claimed territory after drills — couches rearranged, training wraps draped over chair backs, boots kicked under tables.

  Someone had dragged a low table into the center of the room.

  Cards were spread across it.

  Butcher Orbit was already losing.

  “This is rigged,” he said, leaning back dramatically.

  “It’s math,” Yori replied flatly.

  “Math is rigged.”

  Tora laughed mid-bite of something wrapped in paper. “You’re bad at probability.”

  “I rotate probability,” Butcher shot back.

  “That’s not how your Sigil works,” Lamina said without looking up from tightening the straps on her bracer.

  “It could.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  The room hummed with small conversations.

  Seventeen to nineteen.

  Too old to be children.

  Too young to be what they were training to become.

  Corner Couch — Lamina & Anahita

  Anahita sat cross-legged on the floor, a thin stream of water suspended in a looping ribbon between her palms.

  It glowed faintly under the lounge lights.

  She was shaping it into something decorative.

  Not functional.

  Just pretty.

  “You’re going to over-refine,” Lamina said gently.

  Anahita didn’t look up. “I like refinement.”

  “You like control.”

  “That too.”

  The water ribbon folded into a delicate spiral.

  Anahita smiled faintly.

  “I still don’t understand how you do that,” she said, glancing at Lamina’s forearms. “Hardening like that. It looks painful.”

  “It was,” Lamina replied simply.

  Anahita winced. “You say that like it’s normal.”

  “It is.”

  “Not to me.”

  Lamina’s expression softened.

  “You don’t have to like field work.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Anahita hesitated.

  “What if I don’t get a choice?”

  Lamina leaned back slightly.

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  “You’ll get a choice.”

  Anahita’s smile faded a little.

  “You joke about letting yourself die sometimes.”

  Lamina blinked.

  “I don’t joke about that.”

  “You do.”

  Lamina’s jaw tightened slightly.

  “I don’t plan on dying.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Silence hovered between them.

  Anahita lowered the water ribbon slowly.

  “If something happens,” she said quietly, “don’t be stupid.”

  Lamina smirked faintly.

  “Define stupid.”

  “Overcommitting.”

  “That’s my entire personality.”

  Anahita rolled her eyes.

  “I’m serious.”

  Lamina studied her friend for a moment.

  Then nodded once.

  “Fine.”

  It wasn’t a promise.

  But it was close.

  Table — Butcher, Yori, Tora, Match

  Match flicked one of his sun-tonfa idly, letting it glow faintly before extinguishing it.

  “You know what’s funny?” he said.

  “No,” Yori replied.

  “My uncle thinks discipline is the key to everything.”

  “It is,” Tora said.

  “Don’t agree with him.”

  “I’m not agreeing with him. I’m disagreeing with you.”

  Butcher leaned forward.

  “I think we’re overthinking it.”

  “That’s because you underthink everything,” Yori replied.

  Butcher grinned.

  “My Sigil’s rotation-based. I don’t move forward. I spin.”

  “That explains a lot,” Tora said.

  Match leaned back, eyes scanning the room.

  “So,” he said lightly, “anyone actually dating someone outside the academy?”

  Rin snorted from across the room.

  “Who has time?”

  “Time is a construct,” Butcher said.

  “So is your self-awareness,” King muttered without looking up from adjusting his thread tension.

  Match smirked.

  “No seriously. We’re seventeen to nineteen. Are we just pretending we’re not normal?”

  Seraphina glanced up from polishing her refractor blades.

  “Normal people don’t carry weaponized light.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Butcher said.

  Ameena smiled faintly from her seat near the window.

  “Normal people don’t debate saturation thresholds over dinner.”

  “That’s romantic,” Match replied.

  Rin threw a cushion at him.

  Balcony Doors — Gale & Inazuma

  Gale stood near the open balcony doors, windfoil resting loosely in his hands.

  He wasn’t activating it.

  Just holding it.

  Inazuma approached, adjusting her gloves.

  “You’re calibrating again.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled faintly.

  “It wobbled earlier.”

  “You corrected it.”

  “Barely.”

  She leaned against the frame beside him.

  “Your field is stable.”

  “Most of the time.”

  She studied him carefully.

  “You think something’s watching.”

  Gale hesitated.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Instructors?”

  “Not like that.”

  She didn’t push.

  “You’re projecting,” she said calmly.

  “Maybe.”

  “Or you’re sensitive.”

  “That’s not comforting.”

  “It’s not meant to be.”

  He exhaled lightly.

  “I’ll know if something’s wrong.”

  She nodded.

  “I know.”

  Far End — Ayio & Kalik

  Ayio sat on the floor, back against the wall, knees drawn slightly up.

  Kalik stood nearby, leaning against a shelf.

  “You’re not playing,” Kalik said.

  “I don’t like losing.”

  “You don’t lose.”

  “I don’t like risk.”

  Kalik raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s new.”

  Ayio didn’t respond immediately.

  “Victor didn’t hesitate,” he said quietly.

  “No.”

  “He didn’t think.”

  “He did,” Kalik corrected. “He just didn’t care.”

  Ayio’s fingers flexed once.

  “You think caring makes us slower.”

  “I think caring makes us hesitate.”

  Ayio looked up at him.

  “And that’s bad.”

  “Yes.”

  Ayio frowned slightly.

  “Zeke said choice matters.”

  “Choice is a luxury,” Kalik replied.

  The words hung there.

  Not argument.

  Not yet.

  Just difference.

  Across the room, laughter rose as Butcher dramatically accused Yori of statistical betrayal.

  For a moment, it felt normal.

  Ayio glanced at Kalik.

  “You want to be stronger than him.”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to crush him.”

  “Yes.”

  Ayio held his gaze.

  “I don’t.”

  Kalik didn’t answer immediately.

  “That’s your problem,” he said finally.

  “Maybe.”

  Silence.

  Not hostile.

  But edged.

  Center of the Room

  Rin challenged Match to a mock speed drill.

  He accepted immediately.

  Butcher counted down dramatically.

  “Three—two—”

  They moved.

  Fast.

  Controlled.

  No surges.

  Just precision.

  Lamina clapped once when Rin won.

  Anahita smiled.

  Seraphina shook her head.

  King observed.

  Ameena laughed quietly.

  For a moment, the lounge felt too small for their energy.

  Too alive.

  Too unbroken.

  Later, when the room thinned and lights dimmed—

  Anahita lingered.

  “Promise me something,” she said quietly to Lamina.

  Lamina sighed.

  “I hate when you start like that.”

  “If it gets bad.”

  “It won’t.”

  “If it does.”

  Lamina looked at her.

  “I won’t let you be alone.”

  Anahita swallowed.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Lamina’s expression softened.

  “I know.”

  Across the room, Gale paused at the door.

  He glanced back once.

  Like he expected something to shift.

  Nothing did.

  He left.

  Ayio remained seated a moment longer.

  Kalik stood beside him.

  “You’re thinking too much,” Kalik said.

  “I know.”

  “Stop.”

  “I can’t.”

  Kalik extended a hand.

  Ayio took it.

  They stood.

  Lights dimmed.

  Doors closed.

  The Sanctuary hummed softly beneath the Dome.

  Seventeen.

  Eighteen.

  Nineteen.

  They argued about dating.

  They debated Sigil mechanics.

  They pretended not to be afraid.

  And for one last night—

  They believed they had time.