"Yes, you can. You've proved it several times over and saved my ass twice now." His eyes hold mine. "But that doesn't mean you have to handle everything alone. And I happen to prefer you alive. So if I think you're in danger, I'm going to be there. You'll need to learn to deal with that."

My smile is small and I can barely meet his eyes as confusing, pleasant emotions twist inside me. "Okay," I say quietly.

I can feel something has shifted between us these past few days, a deepening of whatever this connection is growing into. It's more than attraction, more than the tether that links us. It's trust, hard-won and fragile, but real.

"We should go," I say, reluctant to break the moment but aware of time slipping away. As much as I want to keep hiding away in his room, I know the Crucible is still rushing toward us. I need to be ready, which means going back to regular life at the academy. And that… that starts with this meeting.

Raith nods, his hand falling away. He checks his own clothing in the mirror and scoops up his practice sword before moving to the door.

The walk to Voss's tower is tense, our conversation minimal. Without the distraction of each other's touch, the reality of what awaits us settles heavily on our shoulders. Students part before us in the corridors, their whispers following in our wake. I catch fragments—speculation about my absence, shock at Raith's partially healed face, theories about our obvious proximity to one another.

"What a spectacle they're making," Typhon observes, swimming through the air in his flying fish form, invisible to all eyes but mine. "They fear him, but they crave him too. And they wonder about you—the water with a weak elemental who somehow survived when others failed."

"They have no idea," I think back, watching as two first-year aspirants scurry out of our path.

"No," Typhon agrees. "And let us hope they never do."

Voss's tower feels more oppressive than ever as we ascend the winding staircase, past the portraits of former Rectors that seem to watch with knowing eyes. The narrow corridor at the top is empty, the ornate double doors to his office closed. Rather than knock, Raith simply pushes them open, his hand a steady pressure at the small of my back as he guides me inside.

The office is just as I remember—the massive desk, the shelves of books and artifacts, the wall of windows overlooking the grounds. Voss stands with his back to us, silver-streaked hair catching the morning light as he gazes out at Confluence spread below. He wears a tailored black robe, elegant but simple, power in its understatement.

"I see you brought company, Miss Thorne," he says without turning, his voice mild. "I admit, I was expecting you to come alone."