(Penelope Declair POV )
The first letter arrived on the third day. It contained one hundred and four words, not counting his name.
I didn't count them immediately. That would have been strange. I counted them the second time I read it, which was different. Slightly.
It came during afternoon theory, in an Academy envelope with my name written across the front in handwriting I had known since I was ten. The assistant set it down beside my notes, and I stared at it. Mira stared at it. Three seats away, Roland leaned so far sideways that Cedric put a hand flat against his forehead and pushed him upright again.
"Private correspondence," said Cedric.
"I wasn't reading it."
"You were trying."
"That's different."
I turned the envelope over. There was no seal except the ordinary Academy transit mark: no Vortex crest, no formal address. Only Penelope, in a hand that had improved since he was ten, though not enough. I slid it under my notebook. Roland made a sound, and I looked at him.
