A few days had passed since Luna's first mission, and Elkington had settled back into its usual rhythm—bells echoing from the west tower, leaves whispering across the courtyards, and students darting between houses like flocks of restless birds.

  Abby Fairborne, however, was not darting anywhere.

  She limped down the gravel path toward Pine Hollow, biting her lip each time her ankle protested.

  "Just a little game, that's all. How was I supposed to know those kids play like wild animals?"

  Her right ankle throbbed—souvenir from visiting Lavender Vales and getting coaxed into a rowdy chase that ended with her twisting her foot on a root. She adjusted her satchel strap and quickened her pace, trying to look normal.

  Then she heard footsteps behind her—steady, deliberate,

  and far too close.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  It was Blake Ashford.

  He was holding a tote bag in one hand, a sesame bun in another—deep green eyes staring at her.

  Her heart dropped straight to her shoes.

  She instantly straightened, pretending her limp didn't exist.

  Walk normal, Abby. Normal people walk normally.

  But every step sent a small shock of pain up her leg.

  She eventually reached the front porch and eyed the single step like it was a mountain. She tried to sidestep casually to let Blake pass, hoping he'd just go inside without saying anything.

  Instead, he stopped right in front of her. Still staring.

  Abby's stomach twisted. "Oh. Um... you can go first," she said, forcing a smile that felt two sizes too small. "I just—need a second."

  Blake didn't move. His expression wasn't angry—just unreadable and intense. Which, to Abby, was worse.

  He dropped his bag and shoved the rest of the bun into his mouth.

  "Wh-what are you—"

  Before she could finish, he bent down, one arm sliding behind her knees, the other around her back, and suddenly—she was off the ground.

  Abby gasped so sharply she almost swallowed her words. "Ashford! Wait—no, I—put me down!"

  "Not a chance," he said quietly, tightening his grip. "You're hurt."

  "I'm fine!" she squeaked, flailing so hard her curls hit his face.

  He didn't even flinch.

  "You can't— I'm heavy!"

  "Disagree."

  Her face went crimson. "I— I can walk—"

  He adjusted his hold, lifting her a little higher, completely unfazed. "Sure. If you want to make it worse."

  "Everyone's staring," she hissed, covering her face with one hand.

  "Good. Maybe they'll get used to it."

  She let out a tiny noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper. "Oh, this is a nightmare."

  By the time they reached the third floor, Abby had gone utterly silent from mortification, her entire face burning. Blake nudged open the dorm door with his shoulder.

  Francis looked up from his desk. Trey, sprawled sideways across his bed with his boots still on, perked up immediately—the world's biggest grin already forming.

  "Oh, look!" Trey crowed. "Our valiant knight returns, carrying the wounded maiden herself!"

  "Shut up," Blake said flatly. "We've got some ankle problems here, doc."

  Francis set his pen aside. "Set her down before you drop her, hero—bandages don't restock themselves."

  Abby stammered as Blake gently set her on the sofa. "I—I can explain—he just—there was—I was perfectly fine!"

  "Of course you were," Trey said, lounging back. "I always limp dramatically when I'm fine."

  Francis's tone was mild but precise. "Well, Abby, if it's any consolation, your dignity seems intact. Your ankle, however, is not."

  Abby ducked her head. "I wasn't trying to cause trouble..."

  Francis's voice softened slightly. "You didn't. Sit still. Let's make sure it's only a sprain."

  Trey tilted his head. "Don't worry, Abby. Happens to the best of us. Except me. Obviously."

  "Shut up," both Francis and Blake said together.

  Working in calm silence, Francis knelt beside the sofa while Abby tried not to twitch. His hands were steady as he wrapped the cooling salve around her swollen ankle.

  "Does this hurt?"

  "A little," she whispered.

  Trey, pretending to help by hovering nearby, propped his chin on his hand and watched like it was the best show of his life.

  "You should give her a medal," he said. "For bravery under medical supervision."

  Francis didn't even blink. "I'll give you a concussion if you don't keep your mouth shut."

  Trey grinned, stretching with exaggerated boredom. Then, without warning, he strolled to the balcony door and flung it open.

  "Where are you going?" Francis asked without looking up.

  "Summoning my audience!"

  Before anyone could stop him, Trey leaned over the railing and bellowed,

  "BRIDGET!"

  A window in the neighboring room flew open so hard it rattled.

  "SHUT UP!" came Bridget's immediate reply.

  Trey cupped his hands around his mouth. "IS MY NUMBER ONE FAN THERE?"

  "SURE, SHE WAS WEARING A SHIRT WITH YOUR FACE ON IT!"

  He gasped. "REALLY?"

  "NO, IDIOT! WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

  "TELL HER TO COME UP HERE—SHE'S GONNA WANT TO SEE THIS!"

  Inside, Francis sighed like a man reconsidering his life choices. "Care to switch roommates, Blake?"

  "Not a chance."

  Abby covered her face. "He's not calling Luna, is he? Oh no. Please. Not Luna."

  But it was already too late.

  A few minutes later, footsteps—no, climbing—echoed outside the balcony. Luna's head appeared, hair windswept, gripping the rungs of what looked suspiciously like a half-stable wooden ladder.

  "Trey," she said flatly as he helped her through the railing, "why is there a ladder up here?"

  He gestured proudly. "Oh, you mean The Ladder of Convenience?"

  Francis muttered without looking up, "One day that 'Ladder of Convenience' will break, and I'll be the one fixing him."

  Luna brushed dust from her sleeve, then froze when she saw Abby on the sofa, ankle bandaged, Blake nearby like a silent shadow.

  "Oh," she said. "Oh."

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  Trey's grin was bright enough to light up the whole room. "Worth the climb, right?"

  Luna pinched the bridge of her nose. "You dragged me up here to watch... what, exactly?"

  "The rare sight of Blake voluntarily, gently touching a human being," Trey said. "Look—he's even frowning with emotion."

  Blake didn't move, though his ears turned crimson. "Keep talking and you'll be the next patient."

  Francis finished the last wrap and stood. "She'll live. Unlike me, if this noise continues."

  Abby mumbled, "Thank you, Francis—um, you too, Ash—."

  Blake's voice softened. "Blake."

  "Right. Thank you, too, Blake."

  Francis muttered something about needing a stronger balm for headaches and went back to his desk. Luna lingered by the doorframe, shaking her head.

  "I can't believe you made me climb for this."

  "Don't lie," Trey said. "You'd climb a wall if I told you there was drama on the other side."

  "Not if you're the one causing it."

  "Half the fun is participation."

  She rolled her eyes and set her satchel on his desk while he sat on it. "Anyway, since you clearly live on snacks stolen from others—"

  His eyes lit up. "You brought me food?"

  Luna tossed him a paper bag. "Not just food—egg tarts. From the cafeteria. You're welcome."

  He caught it like a treasure. "You're my gut saver."

  "I'm a practical person who doesn't want to hear you complain at midnight again."

  He took a reverent bite. "Still warm. The world makes sense again."

  Francis murmured, "Please chew quieter."

  Luna's lips curved faintly. "Don't inhale it this time—you nearly died last week."

  "One choking hazard doesn't define a man."

  "It defines your stupidity."

  "Fair point."

  She reached into her bag again. "And—this too."

  She held out a familiar deep-green scarf—the one he lent her—freshly pressed, smelling faintly of soap and sunlight.

  Trey blinked. "You washed it?"

  "It was muddy. And smelled like you."

  "So it smelled great?"

  "So it smelled like horse and disaster."

  He laughed but his tone softened. "Thanks."

  Blake, meanwhile, helped Abby when she tried to stand.

  "I'm sorry you had to—um—carry me," she said. "You didn't have to, really."

  "You were limping halfway across the courtyard," he said quietly. "That's not fine."

  "I just didn't want to bother—"

  "You didn't."

  The words hung there—awkward, sincere, and disarming.

  Abby balanced on her good leg, cheeks pink. "I've got it."

  "I know." He waited anyway, just in case.

  Trey dusted crumbs from his fingers, deeply satisfied. "Perfect. I can die happy now."

  Francis gave him a look. "Tempting."

  Trey tossed the last tart toward him. "Here. Doctor's privilege."

  Francis raised an eyebrow but took it anyway, breaking the pastry neatly in half before eating. "You're learning manners. Impressive."

  "Don't get used to it," Trey said, standing and brushing off his shirt. "Come on, Luna—we're going to Ermin's office."

  Her brows rose. "Why? Am I in trouble?"

  Francis muttered, "With him, you're always in trouble."

  "Not this time," Trey said, patting his shoulder as he passed.

  "Then what is it?" Luna asked.

  Trey threw her a grin over his shoulder. "We're going to help identify your medium—so you can finally choose a proper weapon that isn't a hoe."

  Francis glanced up. "We?"

  Trey rolled his eyes dramatically. "Fine, Night Vision. You and Ermin. I'll just tag along as a very handsome ghost. Come on, Luna, before this visionary doctor changes his mind."

  "Never agreed to have a mind to change," Francis muttered.

  But Trey was already halfway down the corridor, humming under his breath. Luna sighed, following with an amused shake of her head.

  Ermin's office was unusually bright despite the late afternoon—the sun poured through the high windows, glinting off polished instruments and stacks of ledgers. The east chamber beside it had already been prepared: a long table covered with samples of various materials—iron, glass, sand, silk, wood, stone.

  "Alright," Ermin said, rolling up his sleeves. "We'll begin simple. Luna, call your Quanta without a medium first. Francis will observe the reaction. Then we'll pass through the samples."

  Francis lifted a hand. "Baseline first. We need something to compare." He watched Luna closely as she stepped to the center of the chamber and opened her palms. She drew a slow breath and let her Quanta bloom.

  Under Francis's vision, the light unfurled beneath her skin—steady, warm, then sharpening until the air around her hands thrummed. It was stronger than anyone's raw output he'd seen. The glow wasn't blinding like the day she blasted the bowl, but it had presence—a living thing that filled the space.

  Francis's pen hovered midair. "That's...very bright. And stable." His voice had an edge of something like awe. "Brighter than anyone I've seen in raw form."

  Ermin frowned, jotting notes. "Above average, then?"

  "Above average," Francis said. "and promising."

  Trey blinked. "Brighter than mine?"

  "Yes." Francis allowed himself the faintest smirk. "Figuratively and literally." He nudged the pen against the parchment like it was a small, private joke.

  Trey elbowed the air, pleased. "Nice."

  "Alright," Ermin said, satisfied. "Now let's see how mediums affect the resonance."

  Luna moved down the line: thin metal rod first. Warmth threaded down her arms and pulsed through the shaft. The light she released—under Francis's scrutiny—matched the raw glow. Not dimmer, not altered—exactly the same.

  She tried glass, sand, silk, and wood. Each time the glow held—steady and startlingly bright. It didn't temper or shift with the material. It simply continued to be Luna's light.

  Francis frowned, flipping a page of his notes. "Sir."

  Ermin came around the table. "Variation?"

  "None. She shines the same with everything." Francis met Ermin's eyes. "Including the raw one."

  Ermin's brow creased. "Even with metal? Still the same as raw?"

  "Identical." Francis's tone was flat with disbelief. "Even metal."

  Luna's shoulders sank. The thought slid through her like a cold draft. "Does that mean I can't weaponize any of these until I find the real one?" Her voice went small. "What if I'm useless in the field until then?"

  For a breath the room was too loud—her own pulse thudding against her ears.

  Trey reached out, squeezing her elbow. "Wait—didn't Francis say she shines brighter than me?"

  "Yeah." Francis answered without looking up.

  Trey straightened, suddenly practical. "Master, shouldn't we at least see if she can weaponize all of these? If she can project through metal or wood—that bright— it must mean something, right?"

  Ermin regarded him with a long, appraising look. The disbelief in his face gave way to a slow, reluctant agreement. "Test it. I don't mean to encourage impossible ideas, but...Trey's suggestion is sensible, if only to rule it out."

  Ermin moved briskly to the racks and handed Luna a wooden training sword, then a metal blade, then a short spear and a staff. "Project blunt force through each—aim at the dummy. Blunt impact first–no edge work."

  Luna took the wooden sword, steadied herself and thrust. Quanta threaded down the haft, following the wood as if it were a channel. The dummy shuddered and spun, a clean, solid hit.

  Next came the metal blade. She focused, feeling the cold weight in her hand, and the same light answered; it ran through the metal and into the target with the same steadiness and power. The dummy cracked in a new place, the blow sharp and terrifyingly precise.

  Ermin watched, lips pressed thin. Francis scribbled faster than he had since entering the room. Trey's eyes shone with pure delight.

  "Damn, Luna," Trey breathed. "Are you some kind of a—universal Quanta user?"

  Ermin didn't laugh. He only inclined his head, as if the idea were both ridiculous and suddenly plausible. "We have records of universal mediums," he said slowly, "but never a user who bonds to every material. We'll research it. For now: this is excellent control. Impressive, but unpredictable."

  Francis folded his notes. "That would explain why the glow never changes—if her Quanta can ride any medium. But until she's trained to project through a specific weapon under pressure, a physical arm will keep her safer."

  Trey snapped his fingers. "Then let's give her something reliable—and sharp. If you're going into the field again, Luna, I'd rather you stab first and ask questions later."

  "Practical," Francis said dryly. "And violent."

  "She's smaller than most opponents," Trey went on. "She needs range—something long enough to keep them off her."

  Luna looked at him, surprised. "You really put a thought into this, don't you?"

  "Of course. You think I'm all talk?"

  "Exactly."

  "Rude." He sighed, gestured at Ermin. "You know, with Professor Scholar here, you have to research everything before speaking or he'll escort you out with paper balls."

  Ermin glanced up. "Yet you talk nonsense all the time."

  Trey smirked. "That nonsense is well researched."

  Francis ignored them both. "So you mean a ranged weapon? Like arrows?"

  Ermin shook his head. "Archery's time-consuming unless she's experienced—like Eve."

  "Eve?" Luna asked.

  "Eve the Sleepyhead," Trey said. "She uses a bow so she can finish before the enemy even reaches her nap zone."

  Luna smiled faintly. "I've never touched a bow before."

  "Then melee it is," Trey said, rubbing his chin. "Like your hoe—but let's move away from farming equipment before people start calling you the Reaper of the Crops."

  "...Please don't let that stick," Luna muttered.

  Francis scanned the racks. "A spear, then? Long reach, straightforward balance, simpler to learn."

  Ermin nodded. "Sensible." He selected a training spear and handed it to her. "Try this."

  Luna hesitated, then took the stance Trey had shown her in their field mission. When she thrust, she felt Quanta rippled down the spear's shaft, flickering along the edge of the blade. The wooden dummy cracked straight through the chest—clean and centered.

  Ermin's eyes narrowed, impressed despite himself. "Promising. I'll train you personally during your next training session. But since Lancaster's main weapon is a sword, I doubt he can help you that much. Try joining the spear club. There are plenty of excellent spearers there."

  Trey straightened immediately. "I can use a spear just fine."

  Ermin didn't look up. "Your 'just fine' could get her killed. She needs better demonstrations."

  Trey pouted but didn't argue. "Ruthless as ever, Professor."

  "Efficient," Ermin corrected, then turned to Luna. "Read more about Quanta and mediums in your own time. Look for any records of similar patterns. It might not be unique—just extremely rare."

  "Yes, sir."

  Ermin gathered the notes, ready to dismiss them, when Trey cleared his throat and handed him a set of scrolls.

  "Sir—before we go." He tapped the scrolls lightly. "Request for leave."

  Ermin's hand stilled mid-air. "You're not going on another imaginary self-hired mission, are you?"

  Trey's smile faded. "No, sir. It's not that."

  Something in his voice—sharp, restrained—made Luna glance up.

  Ermin studied him, then looked at Francis. "You're aware of this?"

  Francis nodded once. "Yes, sir. It's legitimate this time."

  "Are you going too?"

  Francis shook his head. "No, sir. He doesn't need me for this one."

  Ermin thumbed through the papers, stopping halfway, then looked at Luna.

  "So you'll accompany him?"

  "What? I—no one told me anything," she said quickly, still confused. "What is it about, Trey?"

  "Not your mess to carry." He replied softly. "She's not coming, sir. This one's... family business."

  His face had gone unreadable —composed, distant, all the edges Luna rarely saw unless something weighed on him.

  Ermin's expression softened a fraction—tired, wary. "Family business, hm?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Ermin raised a brow. "Your family business?"

  Trey's grin returned, faint but deliberate. "It will be soon enough, sir."

  Ermin let out a slow exhale, half amusement, half disbelief. He tapped his pen on a line. "You misspelled this. Fix it and you can go."

  Trey took it back, scrawled the correction, and handed it again.

  Ermin signed without looking up. "Six days. No more."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Dismissed."

  Francis was first to leave. Trey followed.

  Luna hesitated, then trailed after them, the earlier tension still sitting quietly in her chest. Whatever Trey was planning, she knew better than to ask.

  She stared at the two figures before her—their wordless exchange, their shared understanding—and suddenly felt the wall between them.

  Whatever this was, she wasn't part of it.

  Not your mess to carry.

  That stung more than she expected. Something small and bitter coiled in her chest.

  He knew her so well—her strengths, her fears, the smallest cracks she tried to hide.

  And yet she had no idea about what lay behind that steady smile.