Raith's voice startles me as he materializes from the shadows just outside the water tower. I nearly drop my flask, glancing around to make sure no one has noticed us. Some fourth-years are arguing in low voices nearby—a pair of fires and earths, their elementals on display as tempers seem to run high.

"About what?" I ask, keeping my voice low, though I don't know why, exactly. Everybody’s attention is on the arguing fourth-years.

"Not here." His eyes—amber in the morning light—scan the tower stairs behind me. "Meet me at the eastern gate in an hour. Wear something you can move in."

I arch an eyebrow. It is a weekend, so our class schedule is light. I had been planning to find an empty room to practice pretending to be a water affinity. Sestra has been threatening some kind of exam, and I want to be ready when it comes.

"Something I can move in? Are we training again?"

"Better than training." For a moment, something almost playful flashes across his face. "I want to show you something."

Before I can ask more questions, he slips away, footsteps silent against the stone floor. I watch him go, curiosity piqued despite my better judgment.

An hour later, I'm waiting by the eastern gate, dressed in my training leathers with my practice rapier secured at my hip. The guard station beside the main gates leading outside the castle stands empty—unusual for midday—but I don't question the stroke of luck.

"They rotate guards at this hour." Raith appears beside me, seemingly from nowhere. "Usually, they stop for a game of dice before returning to their posts, meaning we've still got a bit."

"How do you know these things?" I ask. It's far from the first time Raith has known something he should have no way to know.

He offers a cryptic smile. "I pay attention."

He looks... amazing. He wears the black aspirant uniform trimmed in silver like the majority of students at Confluence, but he wears it so damn well. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Thick arms corded with muscle. And his face. Gods. Even with the majority of the left side twisted by scars, he's beautiful.

He wears his training sword across his back. By now, every last first-year knows he’s the deadliest of all of us with that blade.

"So... we're leaving the grounds?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice. Students rarely leave Confluence except under very specific circumstances. We're prisoners here in all but name.

"If you’re afraid, we could skip it." There's a challenge in his eyes, and something else—an invitation.

"Lead the way," I answer, refusing to be baited.