Sunday morning.
The fog was back, lighter than Saturday's, burning off faster. By the time William reached the dining hall at six-thirty it was already thinning at the edges.
The dining hall had the specific energy of a final competition day — the bracket resolved, the individual results known, the remaining events the team formats that required different preparation than individual combat. Students from all academies ate with the mixed quality of people who were invested and tired simultaneously.
Seraphina was already there.
She was at a corner table with her competition notes spread in front of her, eating with one hand and reviewing with the other, her shoulder wrap visible at the collar line of her jacket. She looked up when William arrived.
"Shoulder," she said.
"Manageable."
"Mine too." She gestured at the seat across from her. "Sit. I want to walk through the team coordination format before Liam arrives and makes it about enthusiasm instead of strategy."
