Chapter Nine: Familiar Feelings & New Beatings

  Mira and I sit across from each other in our dorm room, locked in what I can only characterize as a staring contest with the ferocity of two geese fighting over the last slice of bread. Neither of us willing to break, and Mira, apparently, refusing even to blink.

  I've claimed my position on the edge of my bed, spine straight because slouching would be admitting defeat. My hands are folded in my lap, they need something to do that isn't fidgeting, and fidgeting would definitely count as losing.

  Mira claimed the chair by the desk around ten minutes ago with a scrape of wood on stone, and she hasn't moved since. Not a single shift of weight. Not a rustle of fabric. Nothing. She has the stillness of a statue, impressive or deeply unsettling depending on your perspective. Right now, I'm leaning toward unsettling.

  The room smells faintly of soap and old stone, with a hint of leather that's probably from Mira's sword belt. The wooden window shutter hangs open, letting in a breeze that carries something sweet from the gardens below. It would be pleasant if the silence weren't so aggressively present, filling the space between us like a third person we're both pretending not to notice.

  My own eyes are starting to water. I can feel the burn building, that prickly sensation that means I'm about ten seconds away from blinking involuntarily. I try to think about something else. Anything else. The pattern of cracks in the ceiling. The fact that I've only had working eyes for two days and I'm already using them for psychological warfare.

  Down the hall, a door crashes open, wood slamming against stone with a sharp crack. Voices spill out, overlapping and bright, someone shouting about a missed assignment, someone else laughing in breathless, hiccupping bursts. Footsteps thunder past, multiple sets, running. More laughter, fading as they round a corner. Normal chaos. Normal people living normal lives, completely oblivious to the fact that two people nearby are locked in a battle for the ages.

  The sounds fade into the distance, swallowed by the maze of corridors, and the silence rushes back in to fill the void. Somehow it feels even heavier now, more oppressive, like the brief interruption only highlighted how aggressively quiet this room is. I can't take it anymore.

  "They're taking a while," I say finally.

  Mira's eyes, which had been fixed somewhere past my shoulder, snap to my face. "So?"

  "So... I'm just saying. They've been gone a while."

  "They'll be back when they're back."

  "I know they'll be back. I'm not worried about them. I'm just. . . Impatient. Waiting makes me twitchy."

  "That's your problem."

  "Thanks for the sympathy." I turn toward the window, staring up at the canopy-like layer blocking what would otherwise probably be a normal sky. My fingers find the edge of my sleeve and start worrying at a loose thread. I don't mean to fidget, it just happens.

  Mira shifts in her chair, the first movement she's made in ten minutes. The scrape of wood on stone is subtle, just a slight adjustment of weight, but it breaks the stillness. When I glance over, she's watching me with that unreadable expression she does so well.

  "What are you so worried about?" she asks, her gaze following mine to the window before returning to my face.

  I pull at the thread a little harder. "How often do monster attacks happen around here?"

  "Often enough," she says, her tone matter-of-fact.

  The thread in my fingers snaps. I stare at it for a moment, the broken end curling against my palm. "What does that mean? Should I expect monster attacks with breakfast?"

  "Not usually with breakfast."

  "That's not as reassuring as you think it is."

  Mira's expression doesn't change, but something in her posture shifts slightly. "Why are you asking?"

  I drop the broken thread, watching it drift to the floor.

  "I was just thinking about danger," I say slowly. "I was in the library yesterday talking to Willow and see showed me how close we are to something called the Darklands."

  Mira goes still.

  "Willow?" she repeats, and her voice is carefully neutral. Too neutral. The kind of neutral that means she's working very hard to keep it that way.

  "Yeah. She was showing me the map."

  "The map?" Mira's fingers curl against the armrest of her chair, extending just slightly. Just enough that I can hear the faint scrape of keratin against wood. "What else did she show you?"

  "Just... the map. And the library. She was actually really helpful."

  Mira stands up. "Helpful. . . No. . . don't talk to her." Her voice has an edge now, cutting through the space between us. "Don't go near her. Don't even look at her."

  "What?" I blink up at her, genuinely confused. "Why? You're the second person here to tell me not to talk to her. What's so bad about Willow? She seemed nice."

  "Nice?" Mira's laugh is short and sharp, completely devoid of humor. "She seemed nice?"

  "She was nice. She helped me find books. She explained how the library works. She didn't try to kill me or steal my soul or whatever it is you think she's going to do."

  "You don't know her."

  "And you do?"

  "Yes." The word comes out hard. Final. "I know exactly what she is. It's my job to keep you out of trouble," she says finally, each word deliberate. Forced calm. "Willow is trouble. So it's my job to keep you away from her."

  "That doesn't actually answer my question," I say.

  "That's all the answer you're getting."

  And because I apparently have a death wish, I hear myself say, "And if I don't stay away from her?" I flash what I intend to be a slightly challenging smile, just enough to make a point, but the moment it's on my face, I regret it. Too smug. Definitely too smug.

  "Then I'll fulfill my promise," she says quietly, "and do something about it."

  The smile dies on my face. Right. The promise. The one about keeping me out of trouble. The one that was definitely a threat disguised as reassurance.

  "I feel so safe," I say, letting out a nervous laugh. "You're an amazing monitor."

  "We're here to keep both you and everyone else you might encounter out of trouble," she says. "Whether that's monsters or other students. Worry if you want, but I won't let you die today."

  "What about tomorrow?" I said, cracking a nervous smile.

  "I'll decide later," she says with a flick of her tail

  I pull at the loose thread on my sleeve again, the one I broke earlier. It curls against my palm.

  "I'd feel better if I actually knew how to defend myself," I say, more to myself than to Mira. "I can handle myself in most situations. Just not the ones involving things with teeth and hostile intent."

  Mira makes a strange expression, one I can't quite read. In the 48 hours or so that I've had vision, I haven't gotten good at interpreting faces yet. Some people are easy, Kaela broadcasts her emotions like a flag. But Mira is harder. Still, as I watch her hand come up to rub her chin, something clicks. She's thinking about something she likes. Maybe it's the thoughtful way her fingers move. Maybe it's the fact that she's not scowling at me for the first time since we met. Or maybe it's her tail, which has started moving so fast I can actually feel the breeze.

  She stands abruptly, her chair scraping back with a sharp screech that makes me jump. There's something new in her expression, not quite a smile, but close. Something eager. Almost predatory.

  "I could teach you." The words come out sharp with anticipation. "Right now. While we wait."

  I blink up at her. "Right now?"

  "Why not? We have time." She's already moving toward the door. "The practice room is empty. I could show you some basics."

  "Basics like what? How to hold a sword without dropping it?"

  "That's a start."

  "Is this where you teach me, or is this where you hit me and call it teaching?"

  Her tail flicks once, sharp and quick, and there's the faintest edge of something else beneath the words, anticipation, maybe, or satisfaction she's trying to suppress. "You'll need to learn how to take a hit eventually."

  She pulls the door open, that almost-smile playing at her lips. Her tail is still moving fast enough to stir the air, and when she glances back at me, there's a gleam in her eyes I haven't seen before.

  Like she's been waiting for this.

  I follow, because the alternative is staying here alone, and somehow getting hit by an enthusiastic Mira seems preferable to sitting in silence for another hour. My life has become very strange. Very, very strange.

  The corridor outside our room is quiet, all smooth stone and the occasional window. Our footsteps echo, Mira's boots making solid, confident sounds while mine are softer, more hesitant. Like even my footsteps are uncertain about this decision.

  The practice room is smaller than I expected, maybe twenty feet across, with smooth stone floors worn down by countless feet. The walls are bare except for a rack of practice weapons, wooden swords and staves arranged by size and weight. There are scuff marks on the floor, dark stains that might be old blood or might just be dirt. I'm choosing to believe they're dirt. The air smells like sweat and wood and something metallic, the particular scent of violence that lingers in places where people regularly hit each other.

  Mira closes the door behind us with a decisive thud. The sound echoes once, sharp and final, and then dies.

  "This is cozy," I say. "Very intimate. Is this where you bring all your students?"

  Mira moves to the weapon rack, running her fingers along the practice swords with the kind of familiarity that suggests she's done this many times before. She pauses at each one, testing the weight with a slight lift, checking the balance. Her movements are precise, methodical. This is someone who knows exactly what she's looking for.

  She selects one, a practice sword that's slightly longer than the others, with a worn grip that's been shaped by countless hands. She gives it an experimental swing, the blade cutting through the air with a soft whistle. Then another, faster this time, the movement so quick I barely track it. She nods, satisfied, and sets it aside.

  "I don't have students," she says without looking at me.

  "I'm honored to be your first. Should I be taking notes? Will there be a test?"

  She turns to face me, practice sword held loosely in one hand. Her tail flicks once. She points to a spot on the floor with the tip of her blade.

  "There will definitely be a test," she says, and there's something in her voice that makes me nervous. "A very physical test. . . Now stand there.”

  "That's not ominous at all."

  I plant my feet and try to look like someone who knows what they're doing, which is difficult when you have no idea what you're doing.

  Mira circles me once, assessing, her practice sword held loosely in one hand. Her eyes track over my posture, my stance, the way I'm holding myself. I can practically see her cataloging every mistake I'm making, and I'm not even doing anything yet.

  She completes the circle and moves back to the weapon rack. She runs her fingers along the handles again, reconsidering, then selects another practice sword.

  She returns to stand in front of me and presses the sword into my hands. It's heavier than I expected, the weight pulling at my wrists immediately. The wood is smooth, worn down by use, and warm from where Mira was holding it.

  "This feels like a weapon," I say.

  "That's the idea."

  "I thought we were starting with something less... capable of causing injury. Maybe a strongly worded letter."

  "Where's the fun in that?" She's definitely grinning ear to ear now.

  "Fun. Right. Because this is fun for you."

  "Very fun. Your stance is terrible."

  "I don't have a stance. I'm just standing."

  "Exactly."

  Something taps the back of my knee, her practice sword. "Bend."

  I bend them maybe an inch.

  "More."

  "I'm going to fall over."

  "You're going to get hit if you don't."

  I bend deeper. My thighs immediately file a formal complaint with my brain.

  "Feet apart," Mira says. "Wider. You're not standing in line for bread."

  "Very motivational."

  "Wider."

  I shuffle my feet. The position feels like I'm about to topple sideways.

  "Shoulder width," she says, and her boot taps the inside of my left foot. "Here."

  I adjust. Her boot taps my right foot. "Here."

  The stance feels more stable but also like I'm doing a very slow, very awkward squat that will never end.

  "Now hold the sword like you mean it."

  "I'm holding it."

  "You're holding it like it's a dead fish. Grip it. Both hands. Firm."

  I adjust my grip. The sword wobbles.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Firmer."

  "This is firm!"

  "That is not firm. That is... I don't even know what that is." She steps closer, adjusting my hands on the grip. Her fingers are warm against mine, positioning my thumbs, correcting the angle of my wrists. "There. Like that. Don't let go."

  "I'm not planning to let go."

  "Good. Now try to block."

  "Block what?"

  Her practice sword catches me on the shoulder. Sharp, sudden pain blooms across my shoulder blade. I yelp, stumbling back.

  "What?"

  She hits me again. Other shoulder. The impact jolts through me, and I nearly drop my sword.

  "You're supposed to block!" Mira says, and she's smiling now. Actually smiling. "That's the whole point of having a sword!"

  "You didn't say you were going to start!" I manage to get my blade up just as she swings again. The wood-on-flesh thump echoes in the small space. The impact jolts up my arms, rattling my teeth.

  "In a real fight, no one tells you when they're going to start," she says, and strikes again.

  I'm too slow. The blade catches my ribs, and I gasp.

  "Faster," Mira says.

  "I'm trying!"

  "Try harder."

  I try to push. The sword wobbles. Mira's blade slides past mine and taps my shoulder. Gently this time, almost mockingly.

  "Dead," she says cheerfully.

  "This is educational," I gasp. "I'm learning so much about pain."

  Mira is laughing harder now, a warm, unrestrained sound that would be infectious if I weren't the cause of it. Her blade catches my shoulder before I can recover. Then my ribs. The impacts are coming faster, each one landing before I've fully processed the last.

  "You're not even trying to block anymore!" she says between laughs.

  "I'm trying! This is what trying looks like for me!"

  "Then try differently!" She says.

  She comes at me again, and this time something shifts. Maybe it's desperation. Maybe it's muscle memory from years of navigating without sight, that instinctive awareness of where things are in space. Her blade comes in fast from my left, and instead of fumbling, I just. . . react.

  My sword comes up to meet hers. The block is solid, confident even. The impact jolts through my arms, but I don't stumble back. I hold the position.

  For a split second, Mira's expression shifts. Surprise flickers across her face.

  "That was good," she says. "Really good. Maybe I wont break too many of your bones before Lyra and Kaela get back."

  "You can try!," I say. "False confidence filling me.

  She raises her blade again, but there's something different in her posture now. More respectful, maybe. Like she's reassessing.

  "Again," she says. "Do that again."

  I try. I really do. But whatever magic happened before doesn't happen again. My next block is clumsy, my swing wild. Mira's blade catches my thigh, and I yelp.

  Mira's next strike comes fast, aimed at my left side. I try to pivot right, but my feet tangle, and suddenly I'm falling backward, arms windmilling, sword flying from my grip for the second time.

  Except I don't hit the ground.

  Hands catch me around the waist, stopping my fall with the kind of strength that suggests Mira has caught falling people before and found it unremarkable. I'm bent backwards at an angle that would be comedic if it weren't so mortifying, like a trust fall gone catastrophically wrong.

  Then the door opens.

  I look up at her.

  She's frozen, her hands still around my waist.

  "Oh," Kaela says, her voice bright with barely suppressed delight, practically vibrating with glee. "Are we interrupting something?"

  Mira drops me.

  Just... releases her grip and steps back, and I hit the ground with an undignified thump that knocks the air from my lungs. The practice sword clatters away across the floor, spinning and bouncing with a series of wooden clacks that sound very loud in the sudden silence.

  "Ow," I say from my new position on the floor, which is rapidly becoming my default position. I should just set up camp down here. Bring a pillow. Maybe some snacks.

  "We were training," Mira says, her voice clipped, and I can hear the embarrassment even from down here.

  "Uh-huh," Kaela says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Very... hands-on training. Lots of... close contact. Very educational."

  "She was falling," Mira says, and her voice is strained. Almost defensive.

  "And you caught her," Lyra adds, her tone mild but pointed, like she's commenting on the weather while actually commenting on something much more interesting. "How chivalrous."

  "In my defense," I say from the floor, "I trip a lot. It's a whole thing. Very consistent. You can set your watch by it. Happens at least three times a day, more if I'm nervous or there are stairs involved.”

  "Were there stairs involved?" Kaela asks.

  "No, but there was Mira hitting me repeatedly with a sword and then laughing at my pain, which is equally disorienting."

  "We brought the cloaks," Lyra says, smoothly changing the subject before this can devolve further. She holds them up, dark fabric folded over her arm. "They're finished."

  That gets everyone's attention.

  Mira moves to help me up, her hand extended. "You'll be fine," Mira says. "You did well. Better than I expected."

  "Thanks. I get an A+ in taking a beating."

  I take the offered hand and let her pull me to my feet. My shoulders throb where her practice sword landed, and I'm pretty sure I'll have bruises in the shape of wood grain by tomorrow. Worth it, probably. Maybe. I'm still deciding.

  Lyra presses a cloak into my hands, the fabric heavier than I expected. Runes are carefully sewn into the breast in red stitching, intricate patterns that seem to shift slightly when I look at them directly.

  "Ready?" Lyra says, giving a cloak to Mira as well.

  "As I'll ever be?" I say, folding the cloak over my arm and following the trio to the door.

  We make our way out of the practice room and through the corridors, moving with the kind of casual purpose that suggests we're not doing anything suspicious. Just four students going for a walk.

  Kaela keeps glancing around nervously, her eyes tracking every student we pass. Lyra walks with her usual calm, but her jaw is tight. Mira looks rather annoyed, her tail moving in short, controlled flicks.

  We pass through the main corridor, then down a side passage that leads toward the exterior doors. The stone walls here are older, the mortar between the blocks crumbling in places. Fewer windows. Fewer people. The perfect route for students who don't want to be noticed.

  "Remember," Lyra says quietly as we walk, her voice low enough that it won't carry, "the cloaks don't just hide our mana. They make us completely invisible to everyone here."

  "Wait, invisible?" Kaela whispers. "Like, actually invisible?"

  "Makes sense," I say, unfolding my cloak. "If everyone here sees by sensing mana, and the cloaks block mana completely, then there's nothing for them to see. We'd be invisible." I pause, running my thumb over the stitching. "That's actually really useful. And slightly terrifying. Reminds me of a villain back on Earth."

  "Villain?" Kaela's tail perks up with interest.

  "Evil people with powers," I say. "Or, well, that's what the government calls anyone with powers who won't obey. Heroes fight villains and lock them up. Very black and white. Very simple."

  "Your government labels anyone with powers who doesn't obey as evil?" Lyra's eyebrows rise.

  "If we did that here, the entire Academy would be villains," Kaela says, grinning. "Actually, that sounds kind of fun. We could have matching outfits."

  "We already have matching outfits." Mira comments, stretching out her sweater to make a point.

  Kaela beams. "We must be Villains then!"

  The three of them exchange glances, something passing between them that I can't quite read.

  "What?" I ask, straightening out my cloak.

  Mira clears her throat. "The empire's main religion used to teach that mana was sacred. Untouchable. Using it was considered blasphemy." She pauses, her tail flicking once. "The Academy was founded by heretics, basically. People who thought that was ridiculous."

  "So you're all technically villains by old religious standards," I say. "I'm sensing a theme here."

  "It wasn't until the Yellowman invasion that most people changed their minds," Mira continues, ignoring my comment. "Turns out when you're being conquered, sacred substances become a lot less sacred and a lot more useful. Now we have runes in everything. Some factions still believe in the old ways, but..." She shrugs. "We'd all be dead without mana."

  "War breeds innovation," Lyra adds quietly. "And pragmatism."

  "So basically, your world had to almost end before people decided magic was okay to use." I fold my cloak over my arm. "That's depressingly familiar, actually. Earth's the same way. We only solve problems after they become catastrophic."

  We reach a side door, and Mira pushes it open carefully. The hinges creak, loud in the quiet corridor, and we all freeze. But no one comes. No footsteps. No voices.

  Outside, the air is cooler, carrying the scent of damp earth. We're at the edge of a small clearing, trees surrounding us on three sides. Their branches are heavy with leaves.

  Lyra unfolds her cloak, the fabric sliding through her fingers like water, but she doesn't put it on yet. She's watching me, and there's something uncertain in her expression.

  "I've never been blind before," Kaela says quietly, her voice smaller than usual. "I don't. . . know how to move without seeing. How do I know where I am?"

  "None of us have," Lyra adds, and there's an edge of anxiety in her usually calm voice.

  Mira turns to look at me. "Fey navigated without sight for years," she says. "Before she came here."

  "Right," Lyra says, and relief floods her voice. "You have experience with this. You can lead us."

  "I can," I confirm. "I'm probably the only one here who won't panic when the lights go out. Or, you know, when the mana goes out. Whatever."

  "That's... actually really helpful," Lyra says. "I was worried about how we were going to do this."

  "So just hold on, follow my lead, and try not to freak out when you can't see anything. It's disorienting at first, but you get used to it."

  "I don't want to get used to it," Kaela mutters. "I want to see."

  "What if we get separated?" Lyra asks.

  "We won't get separated. We're going to hold hands." Mira says, looking directly at me.

  Kaela blinks. "Wait? We get to hold hands!"

  Mira rolls her eyes.

  I pull the cloak around my shoulders. The fabric settles over me like a weight, heavy and strange, the runes against my chest pressing through the thin material of my shirt.

  I look at the trio, who each have their cloaks on. I can see Kaela clutching Mira's hand already, a smile plastered onto her face as Mira groaned. Lyra takes Kaela's hand, and then Mira reaches out for me to take hers. She has a complicated expression on her face.

  "Lets get this over with." She says, raising her hood as she grabs my wrist.

  "Yeah . . . Lets do this." I say, raising the hood of my cloak.

  For a heartbeat, nothing changes. The world is still there, the trees, the grass, Mira's face watching me with that careful attention. Then the mana starts to fade.

  It's like watching the sun set in fast-forward. My vision begins to dim, colors bleeding away. The living things around me, the grass, the trees, the others standing close, start to lose their luminous quality, flickering and fading like candles in the wind. One by one, they wink out. The canopy above starts to gray. The trees lose definition, becoming dark shapes, then suggestions of shapes, then nothing at all. The ground beneath my feet disappears from view even though I can still feel it, solid and real.

  Then everything goes dark.

  Complete. Absolute. The kind of darkness that has weight and texture, that presses against my eyes like a physical thing. The canopy above, the ground beneath my feet, my own hands in front of my face, gone. All of it. Just. . . gone.

  And it's fine.

  It's familiar.

  I take a breath, and something in my chest loosens. The darkness wraps around me like an old coat I'd forgotten I owned, worn soft with use. This is territory I know. This is a language I speak fluently. The panic that I'd half-expected, the grief of losing sight again so soon after gaining it, doesn't come. Instead, there's an odd sense of homecoming.

  The darkness doesn't scare me. It's almost comforting, in a strange way. Like coming home after a long trip.

  Around me, I hear gasps. Shuffling. Someone, Kaela, I think, makes a small, distressed squeak.

  "Her Grace!" Lyra says, her voice high and tight.

  "Breathe," I say, and my voice is calm. Steady.

  "I don't like this," Kaela says. I could her Kaela shuffle and press herself against Mira.

  "I can't walk like this?" Mira says, followed by the rustling of fabric.

  "Too bad." Kaela replies, followed by a groan from Mira.

  "Everyone ready?" I say

  "Yes," Mira replies

  "Ready as ever," Lyra says

  "Lets hurry," Kaela says.

  I take a step forward into the darkness. My foot finds solid ground exactly where I expected it to be, and something in my chest settles. This is familiar territory.

  Behind me, there's immediate chaos. Someone, definitely Kaela, shuffles forward too quickly and her foot catches on something.

  "Sorry," Kaela whispers. "Sorry. I just, I can't see anything, and I don't know where my feet are."

  "Your feet are attached to your legs," Mira says. "Same place they've always been."

  "Not helpful!" Kaela says.

  "I thought it was a little helpful." Lyra says.

  We start moving. I can feel Mira gripping my hand. I hear Lyra's careful breathing, the kind of controlled inhale-exhale that means she's working very hard to stay calm. And behind Lyra, Kaela is muttering something quickly under her breath. The ground beneath my feet is packed earth, slightly uneven. I can feel the texture through my boots, the way it slopes gently downward. The air shifts as we move, becoming cooler. There's a breeze now.

  "How do you know where you're going?" Lyra asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "Years of practice," I say simply. "You learn to pay attention to things most people ignore. Smells, sounds, the way air moves. It all means something."

  "It's incredible," Kaela whispers from the back of our little chain. "I'm completely lost. I have no idea where we are or which direction is up or down. I think I might be upside down. Am I upside down?"

  "You're not upside down," Mira says.

  "Are you sure? Because I feel upside down."

  "Very sure."

  Behind us, the sounds of the academy are fading. Voices become distant, muffled. The stone walls that amplify every sound are behind us now, and we're in open air. I can tell by the way sound disperses, spreading out instead of bouncing back.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes, and I'm just starting to think this is going well when something changes. The air in front of me feels different. Denser. Like there's an obstacle ahead, something solid blocking the path.

  I stop abruptly.

  Mira, who was following close behind, walks directly into my back. Her forehead connects with my shoulder blade with a solid thunk, and she makes a small "oof" sound.

  "Sorry," I say. "There's something ahead."

  "What?" Mira asks, her voice slightly muffled because her face is still pressed against my back. "What is it?"

  "I don't know yet. Give me a second."

  I reach out with my free hand, fingers extended, searching. The air is cooler here, and I can hear the faint echo of our breathing bouncing back at us. Definitely something solid ahead.

  My fingers brush against stone. Cold, rough, with that particular texture of weathered rock. I trace along it, feeling the shape. Flat surface, rounded edge, about waist height.

  "It's a bench," I say. "Or maybe a low wall. Definitely stone. Definitely in our way."

  "How did you know it was there?" Lyra asks.

  "The air felt different. Sound was bouncing back. And it's cooler here, which means we're near something that blocks the breeze."

  "That's amazing," Lyra says.

  "It's just practice," I say, but I'm smiling. "Now we need to go around it."

  We navigate around the bench in a careful shuffle, our little chain of hand-holders moving as one unit. It's awkward and slow, and at one point Kaela's foot catches on something and she yelps, but we make it past without anyone falling.

  The ground changes beneath my feet. The packed earth gives way to smooth stone, the kind of polished surface that means we're on one of the main walkways now. I slow down, listening carefully. There are voices in the distance, faint and indistinct, but none close enough to worry about. The stone path is wider, easier to navigate, and I pick up the pace slightly.

  "We're on the main path now," I say quietly. "Stay close. There might be other people around."

  "Can they see us?" Kaela whispers.

  "No. The cloaks make us invisible, remember? But they can still hear us if we're loud."

  "Right. Invisible. I'm invisible." Kaela's voice is slightly higher than normal. "This is fine. This is totally fine. I'm invisible and blind and walking through the academy grounds holding hands with three other people like we're in some kind of demented trust exercise."

  Time stretches in the darkness. Without visual reference points, minutes feel like hours. "How much longer?" Mira whispers after what feels like an eternity.

  "I don't know," I admit. "Time's weird when you can't see. You don't have anything to reference but yourself."

  "That's not reassuring." Mira says.

  "I'm not here to reassure you. I'm here to keep you from walking into things."

  "You're doing a great job at that, by the way," Lyra says. "We haven't hit anything since the bench."

  "Give it time," I say.

  The air changes again. Cooler. Less enclosed. The sounds around us are different too, more open, less echo. We must be getting close to the edge of the academy grounds, where the manicured gardens give way to wild forest.

  "We're through," Lyra says suddenly, and there's relief flooding her voice. "We should be well past the detection runes by now. I've been counting our steps since we started."

  "You've been counting steps this whole time?" I ask.

  "Someone had to keep track of where we were."

  "I was keeping track."

  "You were keeping track by smell and air temperature. I was keeping track with math."

  "Your way sounds less fun," I say.

  I can hear Mira pulling her cloak off next to me, the fabric rustling. Her hand slips from mine, and I feel the loss of that warmth immediately.

  I reach up and unfasten the clasp with steady hands. The cloak slides from my shoulders, and the weight of it disappears.

  Mana floods back.

  It starts as a dim glow, like dawn breaking. Colors seep back into the world, muted at first, then brighter. My companions lighting up like stars coming out at dusk. Then the canopy above, the trees around us, the ground beneath my feet. All of it rushing back in a wave of sensation that makes me blink.

  I have sight again.

  Around me, the others are removing their cloaks, gasping as vision returns. Kaela stumbles, overwhelmed by the sudden return of sensory input. Lyra catches her, steadying her.

  "We made it," Mira says.

  "You're amazing Fey!" Kaela says.

  Mira steps closer, and her hand finds my shoulder.

  "You did well," she says.

  "Thanks," I say. "I'm just glad we made it without anyone walking into a tree."

  "There's still time for that," Mira says, and there's laughter in her voice now.

  Then Lyra clears her throat, and the moment breaks.

  "There's the town," Lyra says, changing the subject. She points into the distance. "Maybe an hour's walk. Maybe less."

  I turn to look. I can see it, a cluster of buildings in the distance, smoke rising from chimneys.

  "Then that's where we're going," I say.