Breakfast at Ironhold was a study in stratification.

  The Mess Hall occupied the ground floor of Blackwell Commons - a cavernous space that had been a university dining hall before the Unveiling and had been rebuilt three times since, each iteration adding another layer of mana-infused architecture over the bones of the last. The ceiling was high enough to swallow sound, reinforced with structural wards that hummed at a frequency just below hearing, and the long rows of tables were arranged in a pattern that the administration insisted was random but that every student understood was a map of exactly where you stood.

  Left side: Rare-tiers and above. Better food - the enchanted serving stations on that end cycled through higher-quality options, including protein-dense meals formulated to support active mana channeling. Better seating - the tables had cushioned benches and proximity to the wide windows that overlooked the Proving Grounds, flooding the area with natural light. Better company, or at least the kind of company that came with better prospects.

  Right side: everyone else.

  Jace carried his tray - eggs that had the rubbery consistency of something reconstituted from mana-preserved powder, toast that was toast, and coffee so strong it qualified as a Vitality debuff - to the table at the back-right corner that had become theirs through the simple arithmetic of exclusion. Nobody else wanted it. The bench wobbled. The window beside it looked out onto a service alley where the maintenance golems stored waste bins.

  Mara was already there, hunched over a medical text propped against the salt shaker, her breakfast untouched and her knee bouncing under the table at a frequency that suggested she'd already had coffee.

  "Morning," Jace said, sliding in across from her.

  "Did you sleep?" She didn't look up from the text. "You have that look. The one where your eyes are doing the thing."

  "What thing?"

  "The slightly unfocused thing. Like you're processing something behind them." She turned a page. "It's disconcerting."

  "I slept. Mostly." He'd been up until past midnight with the journal, then awake again at five with his hand on the desk, practicing the warmth exercise until his MP had bottomed out and the hollow ache had settled behind his ribs like a second heartbeat. "Where's-"

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "Torrin's getting seconds. Elara's in the Forge Quarter - she said she needed to check on an inscription project before first period." Mara finally looked up. Her eyes moved to the journal tucked under Jace's arm, then to his face. "What's that?"

  "Reading material. I'll tell you about it later." He set the journal beside his tray, cover down. "Actually - that's what I wanted to talk to you about. All three of you. Can we meet after last period? There's a spot behind the eastern training field, by the old equipment shed. Nobody uses it."

  Mara's knee stopped bouncing. She studied him with the particular attention of someone whose instincts were calibrated to detect when a person was about to do something inadvisable. "That's your planning voice."

  "I don't have a planning voice."

  "You absolutely have a planning voice. It's the one where you sound calm but your jaw is tight." She picked up her fork, poked at her eggs, set the fork down. "Should I be worried?"

  "Probably. Will you come?"

  "Of course I'll come. I'll bring bandages."

  Torrin arrived before Jace could respond - a tray in each massive hand, both loaded with what appeared to be the entire protein section of the serving line. He set them down with a controlled precision that belied his size, settled onto the bench beside Jace (which groaned but held), and began eating with the methodical focus of a man fueling a furnace.

  "Torrin."

  "Mm."

  "After last period. Behind the eastern training field. I want to talk to the group about something."

  Torrin chewed. Swallowed. Glanced at Jace with eyes that were unhurried and assessing. "The shed."

  "Yeah."

  "I'll be there." He returned to his eggs. After a moment, without looking up: "Elara too?"

  "If someone tells her."

  "I'll tell her." Mara was already pulling out her mana-comm - a compact device the size of a playing card, etched with communication runes that linked to the academy's internal network. She tapped a message with her thumb, fast and precise. "Sent. She'll complain about the location. The shed doesn't have adequate lighting for reading."

  "She can bring a lamp."

  "She'll bring three." Mara pocketed the comm and finally took a bite of her toast. "Jace?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Whatever this is - it's not quitting, right?"

  He looked at her. At the anxiety in her expression that she was trying to hold behind a clinical mask and failing. At the way her fingers gripped the toast like it was the last solid thing in a tilting world.

  "It's the opposite of quitting."

  She nodded. Took another bite. Her knee started bouncing again, but slower - the rhythm of someone who was nervous but willing to wait.