Ethan laughed softly, the sound slipping easily into the wind and vanishing among the quiet rooftops.
"You won't charge them anything," he said. "You'll talk too long, forget the point halfway through, and end up giving away your snacks."
Everly smiled, already knowing he was right. "Then I'll call it generosity," she said, satisfied with the upgrade.
Inside, the kettle clicked once as its last breath of steam escaped. The city shifted another layer deeper into the night, roofs darkening to velvet.
The stars above the cliffs brightened one by one, small and unhurried. Down below, the campus lights kept their patient rhythm, ward by ward, corner by corner, glowing like a heartbeat that had learned to keep time with the people it protected.
"Tomorrow," Evelyn said, setting her empty mug beside the others, "we start earlier."
"Tomorrow," Everly echoed, stretching until her shoulders cracked, "we start smarter."
