"We listen," he says as he pulls black uniform pants up long, toned and muscular legs. "We learn what we can. We give away nothing. And we leave at the first sign of trouble."

"And you're still planning to come with me? He might not let you in."

"He doesn't have a choice," Raith says flatly. "I'm not letting you face him alone. Not after how he abandoned us with the siphon."

I pull my hair back into a tight braid, thinking as I still sit on the edge of his bed. "But he did save us first.”

"We don't know what game he's playing, Nessa."

"If he wanted us dead, why intervene at all? Why not just let the siphon finish what it started?" I shake my head. "It doesn't make sense."

Raith tosses me my uniform—not his oversized clothes from yesterday, but my own, freshly laundered along with a pair of academy-issue women's underwear. "That’s what worries me. So we stay alert.”

I nod, quickly changing while Raith politely turns away. Part of me almost wants to feel his eyes on me as I slip out of my underwear and gather the fresh pair he supplied. But when I peek over my shoulder, he's standing like a statue with his back to me.

"He has more restraint than you. He's able to keep his eyes from your bared flesh."

"Yeah, well, I kind of wish he didn't. It's embarrassing how much he... gets to me."

"You could demand he lay his eyes upon your flesh. I have seen this tactic before and it was quite effective."

Ignoring Typhon, I pull on my underwear and uniform.

When I'm dressed, I move to where my weapons are stored, securing my practice rapier at my hip and checking that Raith's gift—the real dagger—is still safely hidden in my boot.

"I'm ready," I announce. Whatever Voss wants, whatever he knows, I feel prepared to face it with Raith at my side.

Raith studies me for a moment, then he steps forward, his hand cupping my face with unexpected gentleness. "The second he says or does anything that makes you uncomfortable, we're leaving. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I say, rolling my eyes but not pulling away from his touch.

His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "I'm serious, Nessa." He casually adjusts my uniform, fixing the pleats over the collar and giving the hem a tug. The way he fusses with my clothing to get it right feels far more intimate than it should, and I absolutely like it way more than I want to admit.

"I know," I say, my voice softening. "But I can handle myself."