Tomorrow evening, he would tell them.
He thought, now, that he knew how.
Not the operational register. Not distance dressed as accuracy.
Just the truth, delivered the way he'd delivered it to Seraphina in the dining hall on Monday — directly, without performance, trusting that the people across the table would receive it the way people who actually cared about each other received difficult things, which was with exactly the kind of presence this circle had spent months building.
He walked back toward the dormitory building in the lengthening afternoon light, the academy settling toward evening, tomorrow waiting at its appointed distance, and found that for the first time since his mother's message had arrived, he wasn't dreading it.
He was simply ready for it.
---
Sunday morning, Kai's crystal produced a single pulse at nine-fifteen.
Not urgent. Confirmation.
