Saturday began with training, because Saturdays at the academy had begun with training for as long as William had been there, and the events of the past two weeks hadn't changed the fundamental rhythm of his days even as they'd changed almost everything else.
He was in the main training hall by six, running through his mother's sequences in the empty space before the rest of the academy woke. The forms had become so integrated into his body over the past weeks that running them no longer felt like practice in the sense of approaching something — it felt like maintenance, the way breathing was maintenance, necessary and automatic and not requiring the kind of attention it had required when he'd first learned them.
He thought, while he moved, about Sunday evening.
