All of them, even Mathias, seemed to be feeling positive about the trial to come. Walden was quite positive herself, despite the wobbles she’d observed in their recent practice papers. Revision would tidy all that up. And you could tell when you’d taught a group well. It was in the papers you marked and the practicals you observed, but it also came across in the atmosphere of the classroom, the expressions of satisfaction or determination on their faces as they worked, the conversations you eavesdropped on as they talked each other through questions and problems and challenges. It wasn’t enough just to get them to memorise concepts and systems—that worked at GCSE, sometimes, but not at A-level. A successful A-level set had skills. They kept calm in the face of the unfamiliar. They trusted their own capabilities. They spoke with confidence, not just regurgitating Walden’s teaching but recombining, putting together things that Walden had never explicitly connected for them, starting to see the glittering constellation of the big picture. Some of them—Nikki, especially, but all four now and then—were reaching for that big picture, a wider vision of knowledge and power and skill. They were starting to spot the holes and simplifications that were hidden in the secondary syllabus, and to ask the questions that Walden had more often heard in her postdoc days, lecturing undergrads.

And after all, they were eighteen, or nearly; adults in law, if not in context. They were old enough to vote or to marry, to buy alcohol, to join the army. Only six months of school were left to them. They didn’t just know magic. They knew how to think.

It was a good feeling, being proud of your students.

The Phoenix stirred at the back of Walden’s mind at the end of that final lesson. It had been blessedly quiet since the night she’d drunk all that gin with Mark. Power, growth, change, it murmured. Walden ignored it as usual. In the corridor, Will and Nikki were having a quiet, urgent exchange. “Promise you’ll message me?” Walden overheard—poor Will, honestly, desperation had to be an unfamiliar feeling for him—and Nikki’s answer: “Yeah, okay, I promise.”

True love. Walden covered a smile as she gathered up her papers and her half-empty flask of sludgy staffroom coffee.