“Is someone going to stop us or something once we get to the fifth?” Theo glanced up at the last flight of stairs to the fifth floor. “Or is it just the study rooms?”

  “It should just be the study rooms,” Ty answered absently, surveying the busier-than-usual library.

  “I think Seth mentioned something about the coordinator…” Cyril trailed off as he craned his head and spotted someone sitting at a table on the other side of the building. “Aha!”

  In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

  “Honestly,” breathed Ty, rushing after him.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming…” Theo declared sluggishly, making no effort at all to pursue his classmates.

  Halfway to the small study desk, Ty could see Cyril chatting with someone who appeared to be a student. She didn’t have a typical Academy outfit on, but combat gear instead: black fabric hugged her arms and chest, a small, unbuttoned deep red cape of the same shade draped loosely across her shoulders, and her black boots and pants effortlessly blended in with each other while contrasting the red.

  “Cyril—” Ty began to admonish, rushing over before stopping short.

  “It’s all ready—Seth told me you were coming,” smiled the light-haired student at the desk, taking Cyril’s pin and writing down its markings on a small pad of paper to her side before returning both it and a small blank slip she took out of her bag. “I trust you. You just need the study room in the back, right?”

  Her voice. It was that sickly sweet, singsong voice: Halle. One of the students that had been with Nate during the duel.

  “Oh, perfect, thank you so, so much.”

  It finally occurred to Ty that maybe the students with him that day were in on the Headmistress’s secret. Like how Darius was. There was something there. Something that didn’t particularly bother her at the moment, knowing her purpose, but she couldn’t help but notice the small coincidences.

  “Thank you,” she distractedly echoed before realizing that Cyril had bolted again.

  She sighed.

  By the time she reached Theo, Cyril was already holding the door open for the two behind him. “Come on, come on,” hurried the healer. “Checks begin at midnight, come on.”

  “Yes, yes,” sighed Theo, picking up the pace and Ty following suit, feeling a rush of emotions come back to her at all once upon entering: the feeling of hatred, of doubt, of sadness. Nate’s words, eyes distant as he looked upon the fire. The feeling of hot blood trickling down her leg, the smell of burnt grass before blacking out. Meeting the Headmistress, always recalling that familiar face plastered with...what was it—hope? Pity?

  Starting...what was it again? Anew? A new start.

  Ty surveyed the room with its ornate fireplace and couches, pristine desks and plush chairs, noticing how well-kept everything was, especially in this room—maybe it was special, if she was supposed to meet the Headmistress here.

  “These books all look so pristine,” commented Theo, echoing Ty’s own thoughts as he stood in front of a dark shelf in a corner opposite to Cyril, scanning the titles. “And they’re all on vastly differing subjects...how is this study room even organized?”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Dunno, I asked someone downstairs, and they told me this was where they had it,” answered Cyril, hovering his fingers across the colorful spines, trying to locate the book he came here for. “Remember: toxin tracing.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  While Ty stood dumbly at the desk in front of the room, she finally remembered what she came here for. The books.

  Thankfully, there was only one ladder in the room, and it was on the shelf closest to her.

  Walking up to it, checking her notebook and trying to figure out where each book on her diagram was placed, she let out a long breath to steel herself for the gargantuan task.

  She started from the bottom right first, sitting down on the floor and tilting her head to scan the titles, feeling like the longer she surveyed the books, the more she wanted to give whoever organized the room the benefit of the doubt that they were ordered correctly, no matter how absurd some titles sounded right after the other.

  Interpreting Constellation Formations. Religious Death Rituals and Cultural Taboos. Growing Non-Native Plants in Synthetic Soils.

  “Did you find it yet, Theo?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Are you even looking for it?”

  “...I would be doing it more effectively if you weren’t speaking.”

  “Hey, I brought you along cause you’re the genius. Thought you’d find it by now.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine who made up that rumor.”

  “I’m sure everyone thinks so.”

  Orphanages, Faith, and Anasot. History of Conflict at Blackire. Guiding the Forlorn.

  “You don’t need to keep flattering me, I already agreed to help you.”

  “Ty, back me up here.”

  “He’s right.”

  “See? I’m right.”

  “Okay, I’m done this side. How about you, Cyril?”

  Bonding Ties and Childhoods Apart. Ancient Translations from Source Texts. Toxin Tracing and Intervention.

  “Oh!” Ty sprung up from her spot, pulling the volume out of the shelf and patting her pockets for something to mark its place—a single admin card.

  Better than nothing.

  “I found your book, Cyril.”

  “Really?” Cyril yelled, garnering a strict shush from Theo.

  Ty examined the title and read aloud, “‘Toxin Tracing and Intervention: The Search for the Root, Traditional Remedies.’”

  “Herbal remedies for toxin tracing, that’s essentially cheating,” mumbled Theo, unimpressed and sitting down at a study desk. “Thought you were going to try and use magic, being the main healer and all.”

  “Hey, that doesn’t mean it’s not important!” retorted Cyril, gently taking Ty’s outstretched book and giving her a few pats on the head in exchange. “Thank you, Ty.”

  “Oh.” She smoothed her hair where Cyril had patted her and bashfully returned to looking for her book. “You’re welcome.”

  Studies in Ancient Architecture. Pitfalls of Modern Architecture and Fire Magic. Academy Records 399-402.

  Scanning a few other random titles, Ty couldn’t help but think how arbitrary this all was. Yes, she wouldn’t know where to start with trying to contact her professor, and she likely would not receive a straight answer, but exactly how important was this question and why did it matter that she could solve it?

  She finished another two rows of books and moved on to the next, drowning out Cyril and Theo’s bickering with her own mumbling as her fingers hovered over the volumes.

  “Culinary...pursuits...research...anatomical…reverse...”

  Her finger stopped in front of a particularly small book—if it could be called that—crammed between two volumes she had just glossed over, whose title she could not make out from just a glance.

  She pulled it out slowly, making a mental note of its spot between the last two books and noticed that it appeared to be an Academy-bound book with a clear plastic cover and back. A black fabric spine held the two covers together, and inside were several cream pages bound together, about the size of a report.

  After turning the first clear cover, she glided her hands against the black inscription on the front, loud and angry against the soft cream. She could feel the bumps around the ink, where the paper had warped to absorb the words.

  “Fifteen,” she quietly read aloud. “Combat log and report: Final battle in the Darkwoods.”

  Not even considering for a moment its relevance to her search, she opened the file.

  COMBAT LOG, it wrote in bold and unmistakable, unfathomably neat handwriting at the top, followed by a subtitle under it: Darkwoods. Last day of the 15th Circle. 3-A.

  And then the supposed name of the individual who had prepared the report, scratched out in more black ink, but she already knew to whom the writing belonged. She had seen it a hundred times, between slips and rotations, notes and assignments.

  Faris.