I drop the cookie bag and move without thinking, crossing the room in three strides and grabbing Maribel's wrist. I pull her off of Freya with enough force that she stumbles backward and loses her grip completely.

  "Maribel, stop!"

  She whips around to face me, her eyes wild. For a second, she looks like she doesn't recognize me. Her hand twitches as if she's about to lunge again, so I position myself between her and Freya, ready to intervene if necessary.

  "This is insane," I say, keeping my voice level. "Whatever you're fighting about, choking people is not the solution."

  "She won't listen to reason—"

  "So you decided that murder was the next logical step?"

  "I wasn't going to kill her. I was just—"

  "You were strangling her! That's literally attempted murder!"

  I hear Freya gasping for air and coughing behind me. I risk a glance back to make sure she's okay. She's sitting up with one hand at her throat. Her face is still red, but her breathing is returning to normal.

  Maribel is staring at her own hands as if she's seeing them for the first time. "I...I don't..."

  "You don't what?"

  "I don't remember deciding to do that." Her voice is quieter now; she sounds confused rather than aggressive. "We were arguing, and then I was on top of her, but you pulled me away."

  That's strange. Maribel is an all-around interesting character. She's obsessively organized, pretty rigid socially, and totally set in her ways. But she's not violent. The escalation from an argument to a physical assault doesn't match her personality at all.

  "Sit down," I say, gesturing to her bed. "Both of you. We're going to talk about this like rational people instead of whatever the hell that was."

  Maribel sits, still looking disoriented. Freya moves to her own bed, keeping her distance, one hand still on her throat where red marks are already starting to look like bruises.

  I grab the cookie bag from where I dropped it and place it on the shared table between them. "Okay, someone please explain what happened. Calmly. Without trying to kill each other."

  They glare at each other across the room, and for a moment I think neither of them is going to talk. Then Maribel speaks, her voice tight with controlled frustration.

  "She's keeping an artifact that's disrupting the mana stability in the northeast corner of the room."

  "The northeast corner," I repeat.

  "My designated study area. The location with the best magical resonance that I specifically chose for its energy flow properties." She points at Freya. "That necklace she wears is messing with the ambient mana field, causing fluctuations that make concentrated study impossible."

  Freya's hand moves to her chest, and I can see a silver chain disappearing under her collar. "It's not that disruptive. You're being dramatic."

  "I'm being precise, no doubt! The interference is measurable, consistent, and bad for magical development. I asked you to remove it, and you refused."

  "Because it's mine! It's personal property and you have no right—"

  "I have every right to request that disruptive magical items be removed from shared space!"

  "It's a necklace, not a weapon!"

  "It's a poorly-crafted elven artifact with unstable enchantments that are actively degrading the room's magical environment!"

  I hold up my hand. "Okay, pause. Freya, why don't you just take off the necklace?"

  She looks at me, and there's pain in her eyes underneath the anger. "It's the only thing I have left from my grandfather. He died in a demon raid when I was young, and this necklace is the only keepsake that survived."

  Oh. That's significantly more complicated than just stubborn refusal.

  "It has sentimental value," I say to Maribel.

  "Sentiment doesn't change the measurable mana disruption."

  "But it does change whether demanding someone destroy their only family heirloom is a reasonable request."

  Maribel's jaw sets in that stubborn way that means she's absolutely not backing down. "I didn't demand destruction, you know! I demanded removal from shared space. She could store it in a warded container, keep it at the bank, or even send it home. There are a few options that don't require wearing it all the time."

  "And you didn't consider that maybe she wants to keep it close because it reminds her of someone she lost?"

  "When it comes to the practical stuff, like keeping the magical environment stable, emotional attachment just doesn't come first."

  Freya lets out a sound of pure frustration. "You're impossible! You're all about the numbers, optimization, and efficiency! Some things matter more than your perfect study conditions!"

  "Some things matter more than your refusal to acknowledge measurable problems!"

  "I was trying to explain—"

  "You were refusing to cooperate—"

  "And you tried to rip it off my neck!"

  "After extensive attempts at reasonable discussion failed!"

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Choking me is not reasonable discussion!"

  They're both standing now, yelling at each other, and I can see this turning into a physical confrontation if I don't step in again.

  "Sit down!" I say, loud enough that they both stop and look at me. "Both of you. Now."

  They sit, still glaring.

  I take a breath and remind myself that I'm the adult here, even though I look twelve. These are teenagers caught in a conflict between valid concerns; Maribel's need for a stable magical environment versus Freya's emotional attachment to a family heirloom. Neither of them is entirely wrong, which means neither of them is going to back down without compromise.

  "Here's what we're going to do," I say. "Tomorrow we're taking the necklace to Professor Thorne and asking him to evaluate it. If it's actually disrupting mana stability, he can tell us why and maybe suggest solutions that don't require Freya to give up the necklace entirely. If it's not actually that disruptive, Maribel can adjust her expectations. Does that work?"

  Freya looks uncertain. "Professor Thorne?"

  "He's head of Practical Combat Studies and he specializes in magical analysis. If anyone can objectively assess whether the necklace is causing problems, it's him."

  "And if he says it's disruptive?" Maribel asks.

  "Then we find a compromise. Warding, limited wearing hours, whatever works for both of you. But we get expert opinion first before making decisions based on assumptions."

  They look at each other, then at me, and I can see them both thinking about whether this is acceptable.

  "Fine," Maribel says finally.

  "Okay," Freya agrees.

  "Good. Now apologize to each other for the violence."

  ....

  "Um... I'm sorry for choking you," Maribel says, and she actually sounds like she means it. "I don't know what came over me. That was completely inappropriate."

  "Hm, well, I'm sorry for not discussing the issue properly," Freya responds. "I should have been more willing to find solutions instead of just saying no."

  I nod, satisfied that we've reached at least temporary peace. "Haha. What are you guys, teenagers?"

  They both look at me.

  "Well, we are," Freya says.

  "Yes, we are," Maribel confirms.

  "Ugh, well, yeah." I grab the cookie bag. "Now eat some cookies and try to remember you're roommates who have to live together for the entire year."

  They each take a cookie from the bag—Maribel choosing lavender shortbread, Freya grabbing chocolate sea salt—and we sit in a bit of an awkward silence while eating.

  Maribel finishes her cookie and looks at me like she's thinking hard. "By the way, how'd you manage to push me off Freya so easily? Your body is a lot smaller than mine, and I was bracing myself. The physics just don't add up."

  "That's the difference between gym muscles and real muscles," I say without thinking.

  "What?"

  "Never mind. I'm strong, y'know! I've been thrown into the wild since childhood, and I had to develop practical strength for survival."

  "A child talking about childhood," Freya says with a laugh.

  "I contain multitudes."

  Maribel's still watching me like a hawk. "Your strength is disproportionate to your body mass. That suggests either magical enhancement or—"

  "Or I'm just naturally strong. Some people are." I gesture to the cookies to change the subject. "These are really good, by the way. I got them from The Gilded Spoon café."

  Freya's face lights up. "Oh, I know the head chef there! He visited my village about twenty years ago, actually. Stayed for a summer learning traditional elven cooking techniques. He's the one who recommended I apply to the Academy when he heard I had magical aptitude."

  "That's nice," I say. "Small world."

  "He was really kind, and he helped my family through some tough times after the demon raid. I was so young then but I remember him bringing sweets and telling stories about the capital city."

  "Yeah, sounds like a good person—" I stop. Process what she just said. "Wait. Twenty years ago?"

  "Mm-hmm. Maybe closer to twenty-three? I don't keep a precise count of years."

  "Freya. How old are you?"

  She tilts her head, considering. "I don't really count, but maybe around fifty-four years old? Somewhere in that range."

  I knew elves lived long lifespans. Every fantasy story I've ever read, every game I've played, every piece of media featuring elves mentions it. Centuries-long lives, aging slowly, all that standard fantasy lore.

  But knowing it in theory and hearing my teenage-looking roommate casually mention being fifty-four years old are two very different experiences.

  "You're fifty-four," I say, more to myself than to her.

  "Yes? Is that strange?"

  "No, I just—I knew elves lived long, but actually hearing it is different from reading about it in books."

  "Oh." She looks almost embarrassed. "I forget humans have such short lifespans sometimes. Fifty-four probably seems ancient to you."

  "It seems like you've lived an entire human lifetime and you still look sixteen."

  "I'm still pretty young by elven standards, probably about your early twenties in human years."

  Maribel looks between us, clearly amused. "Are you having an existential crisis about basic species differences?"

  "I'm not having a crisis, I'm just impressed! I know elves live forever, but it's different when you're actually sitting across from someone who's been alive for half a century and remembers events from decades ago.

  "I wouldn't say forever," Freya corrects. "We live for centuries, not forever. And most of my life has been pretty ordinary, not particularly worth remembering."

  "You've still got fifty-four years of lived experience. That's wild."

  "And you have however many years you have, and Maribel has her years. Experience is what you make of it, not just the accumulation of time."

  That's surprisingly philosophical for someone who was being strangled fifteen minutes ago.

  "Right," I say. "Experience. Got it."

  "Does this change things?" Freya asks, really curious. "Knowing my age?"

  "Well, no. My brain is just processing the fact that my roommate is older than most of the people I knew back home."

  "That seems like a you problem."

  "It absolutely is a me problem."

  "Wait, do half-demons also live for a long time?" Maribel asked.

  "Oh yeah. You right…"

  Maribel takes another cookie, looking more relaxed than I've seen her all day. "For what it's worth, this is the most entertaining roommate interaction I've experienced."

  "We're not here to entertain you," I say.

  "And yet you do anyway."

  We finished the cookies in a silence that was almost comfortable. The earlier tension faded into the kind of conflict that will probably be awkward tomorrow, but not something that will end our relationship. Maribel is already reorganizing her desk with meticulous care, clearly recovered from whatever happened during the fight. Freya is reading again, and she sometimes touches her throat where the bruises are starting to form.

  And I'm sitting here processing that my roommate is fifty-four years old, which I intellectually knew was possible but experiencing as reality is completely different from theoretical knowledge.

  I just remembered she's an elf. Really, truly, actually an elf with all that implies; centuries-long lifespan, decades of memories, and perspective that spans human generations. It's one thing to know it as a fact, and another to sit across from someone who casually mentions events from before I was born like they happened recently.

  This world is going to keep on being real in ways that surprise me, and I'm apparently just going to have to deal with it.

  Uh, anyway, tonight, I'm just going to chill with my fifty-four-year-old roommate who looks sixteen, and my possibly-possessed-earlier other roommate and try to accept that this is all normal.

  It seems like that's just how things are done these days.