He looked different. Not physically — he was the same height, the same build, the same brown hair pushed back from a face built for determination. But the energy behind the face had changed. There was a weight to his presence that hadn't been there at the entrance exam. A density. The particular gravity of someone who was becoming more than they'd been and hadn't fully adjusted to the additional mass.
"Valdrake," he said.
"Crest."
"We need to talk."
"About?"
"About Malcris."
The name landed with precision. Aiden wasn't a subtle person — he communicated the way he fought, with direct force and zero misdirection. But the fact that he was here, at my door, saying that name, meant something had changed in his understanding of the academy's political landscape.
"What about him?" I said. Neutral. The mask.
