I wasn’t certain I could keep doing this. Getting up early, working all morning on M-Bot. Getting wrung out by lessons each day, then trudging back to my cave at night. Sleeping fitfully, dreaming of the people I’d failed or—worse—having nightmares about running away…

“Pssst!”

I stopped, then glanced at the radio strapped to the side of my backpack.

“Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssttt! Spensa!”

I looked up and down the hallway. To my right—was that Kimmalyn there, in a doorway, wearing black? “Quirk?”

She waved me forward urgently. I frowned, suspicious.

Then I wanted to kick myself. Idiot. This is Kimmalyn.

I walked to her. “What are you—”

“Shhh!” she said, then scrambled down the hallway and peeked around a corner. She waved at me to follow, and more confused than anything else, I did.

This continued for a couple of turns through empty corridors—we even had to pull into the bathroom and she made me wait with her there, explaining nothing, until we finally reached a hallway lined with doors. The girls’ bunks. Two unfamiliar young women—wearing flight suits and the patch of Stardragon Flight—stood chatting outside one of the rooms.

Kimmalyn held me there, crouching at the corner until the two girls finally walked off in the other direction. I didn’t miss that Kimmalyn and I had come in the back way, the opposite direction of the mess hall. So was she sick, or not?

After the two girls left, FM’s head—her short hair clipped back with a glittering barrette—popped out of one of the doors. She gestured with an urgent wave. Kimmalyn dashed down the hall to her, and I followed, ducking into their room.

FM slammed the door, then grinned. Their small room was as I remembered it, though one of the beds had been removed, when Morningtide died. That left a bunk on the left wall, and a single bed by the right. A pile of blankets lay lumped between them, and the dresser held two trays of food: steaming soup in bowls, with algae tofu and slices of thick bread. Real bread. With real imitation butter.

My mouth started watering.

“We asked for extra,” Kimmalyn said, “but they sent soup, because they think we’re sick. Still, ‘You can’t ask for more when you already have it,’ as the Saint said.”

“They removed the extra bed,” FM said, “so we piled some blankets on the floor. The trick is going to be using the lavatories—but we’ll run interference for you.”

It finally sank in. They’d pretended to be sick so they could order food into the room—and share it. They’d snuck me to the room, and made a “bed” for me.

Stars. Gratitude surged up inside me.

I was going to cry.

Warriors did not cry.

“Oh! You look angry,” Kimmalyn said. “Don’t be angry. We’re not implying you’re too weak to walk to your cave! We just thought… you know…”

“It would be nice to take a break,” FM said. “Even a great warrior can take the occasional break, right, Spin?”