I count the doors and the turns as we go, a crack in a stone, a step that’s steeper than the others, committing them to memory. I was the kid everyone followed around at carnivals because it only took me one go-around before I knew where everything was. Dad says it’s from obsessively learning every inch of the woods near our home, which are a bazillion times harder to map than a building or a fair.

Layla reaches the end of the corridor, goes down three steps, and turns left. “I suspect the class schedule here is going to be different from what you’re used to. While some classes are back to back, most are not because many of the courses involve physical exertion. Our heaviest days are Monday through Friday, with a lighter schedule on the weekend. But the professors have the right to call an impromptu challenge whenever they want.” She pushes a flyaway hair back into place. “Now we’re entering the north side of the building, which has classrooms and faculty offices.” She points to the wall. “And the south side has common rooms—the dining hall, library, weapons rooms, and so on.”

I stop abruptly. “Hang on. What kind of weapons rooms?”

She stops, too. “We have a fairly extensive sword collection. And the bows and knives are some of the best.”

I can feel myself grinning. I’ve never used a real sword. Dad always made me practice with a wooden one, which I did so often that I broke my fair share of them. And a room full of knives? Sign me up.

“But the poisons aren’t what they could be,” Layla continues, almost to herself. “There’s no point in talking about it now, though, because we won’t get to that side of the building until lunchtime.”

My smile disappears. “Poisons?”

“I hear they’re expanding the curriculum next term, so it may improve.” Her delivery is matter-of-fact.

As far as I can tell, the only reasons to teach poisons are because you plan to use them or because you think someone might use them on you—neither of which sits well with me. “Why exactly are we learning about poisons?”

She looks at me like I can’t be serious. “You’re excited by knives but wonder why there’s a poisons class? If this is some kind of carefree, innocent act, you can do better than that.”

I stare at her. “Using knives, arrows, and swords is a skill. Poisons are strictly about hurting people.”

“Right. And knives are for cuddling,” she says flatly, and starts walking again. “You have an appointment right now with the head of assessment. His office is just down this hall.”

I grab her wrist, but she smoothly undoes my grip before I get a good hold. She glares at me, the first real sign of life I’ve seen in her. “Don’t ever do that.”

“Touch your arm? Sorry. But stop the tour for a sec. I’m serious. What’s with the poisons and the archaic eye-for-an-eye rule?” My off feeling is escalating and I’m getting the distinct sense that there is something about this place I should know and don’t. “And what about the student deaths Blackwood mentioned? I know I can’t ask who the students are and all, but can you explain at least a little? Should I be nervous right now?”