Lucy had been confident — almost certain — that despite the boy's spiraling the night before, Logos would bounce back. He always did. That sharp little mind of his might race itself into panic on occasion, but it never stayed there for long.
Still, she hadn't left him alone right after that royal envoy business. She'd stayed until his breathing evened out, until his eyelids drooped, just in case he decided to vanish into some cold corner of the keep and stew himself into a fever of anxious calculations.
Now, morning sunlight spilled through the thin curtains of his chamber, and Lucy balanced a tray on one hand as she eased the door open.
"Young master, are you awake?" she called softly.
No answer.
She stepped in, setting the tray — fresh bread, cheese, and a steaming cup of watered-down tea — on the small table near the window. She turned, ready to tug the blanket off him if he was still hiding under it.
And froze.
Her stomach dropped like a stone.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed… holding a dagger.
"Logos!" The tray went flying, bread tumbling, the tea sloshing dangerously before tipping onto the floor. Lucy sprinted to him, adrenaline roaring in her ears, and snatched the knife from his hands in one sharp motion.
"What are you doing?!" she demanded, voice tight with fear. "Are you trying to kill yourself?!"
"Listen, I—"
"Why?" Her voice cracked, the words spilling fast and harsh. "Why would you do this?! Why didn't you tell me if you—"
"I am not dying!" Logos's voice rang out, louder than she'd ever heard it. He shouted not out of anger, but to break through her panic.
Lucy froze, still clutching the dagger. Her breathing was fast, uneven, like she'd sprinted the length of the keep twice. "…Then what," she said at last, "exactly were you doing?"
He exhaled, his small shoulders dropping slightly. "I found it in the library yesterday," he said matter-of-factly, as if the explanation was obvious. "Decided to keep it. Thought it would make a good ruin scribe, so I was checking the hardness."
Lucy blinked. "…A ruin scribe?"
"Yes. You know, for engraving mana channels into composite plates." He tilted his head, studying her expression. "It's sharp enough to mark steel without excessive pressure. That's rare."
Lucy stared at him for a long moment. She had sprinted across the room like her life depended on it, and here he was calmly explaining metallurgy and channel carving.
"Though," he added, "I understand your concern. But don't worry — there's too much in the world for me to learn. I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
Lucy let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "You little—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Do you have any idea what that looked like?"
"From a certain perspective, yes," Logos admitted. "But you leapt to a conclusion without asking for context first."
"I leapt to a conclusion because you were sitting alone at dawn, staring at a dagger like you were contemplating something grim."
"I was contemplating engraving methods."
"You are impossible."
"I've been told."
Lucy sighed, glancing at the dagger in her grip. "You know, there's a whole room full of engraving tools in the south workshop."
"Yes, but most of them are dull," Logos replied, unbothered. "And they weren't designed to handle channel etching with precision under minimal mana infusion. A ruin scribe needs both hardness and the ability to hold a stable enchantment. Steel of this temper is a better candidate than anything in the workshop."
"Do you hear yourself?" Lucy muttered, setting the dagger carefully on the table, far from his reach.
"Yes," Logos said without missing a beat. "That's why I speak clearly."
Lucy rubbed her temples. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, Logos. Next time you're experimenting with something sharp, tell me first. Better yet, tell me so I can make sure you're not about to take your fingers off in the process."
"I'd prefer to keep all my fingers," Logos said mildly. "They're important for writing and for fine-tuned assembly work."
"Glad we're on the same page," Lucy said dryly. She took a breath, letting some of her tension ebb now that she was sure he wasn't in some dark spiral. "Eat your breakfast before it gets cold. Well… colder." She glanced at the tea puddle on the floor. "And before the ants get to it."
Logos eyed the bread and cheese, then looked back at the dagger. "Do you mind if I…?"
"Yes, I mind," Lucy interrupted immediately. "Eat first. You can carve runes into your precious metal plates after you've had something in your stomach."
He opened his mouth — probably to argue about efficiency — but stopped at the look she gave him. "…Fine."
Lucy sat back down across from him, still watching him like he might vanish into another bizarre project if she so much as blinked.
After a few minutes of quiet chewing, Logos glanced up at her. "You stayed in my room last night."
Lucy nodded. "You looked like you were going to stay awake all night thinking yourself into a headache. I wasn't about to let you do that."
"That was unnecessary," he said automatically, then hesitated. "But… thank you."
The faint sincerity in his tone made her pause. He didn't often express gratitude out loud. She only nodded in response.
By the time the bread was gone and the cheese reduced to crumbs, Logos seemed more like himself again — calm, calculating, already planning his next move.
And Lucy, though still a little rattled, felt the knot in her chest ease. He might scare her half to death sometimes, but at least he wasn't about to give up on living.
Not when there were still so many impossible problems for him to solve.