I didn't leave the chamber right away.
The door had sealed behind Valentina with a sound that felt final stone settling, wards knitting themselves shut and for a long minute I just sat there, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
It smelled like old incense and iron filings. The kind of place meant for decisions that couldn't be undone.
Indecision is also a choice.
I hated that she was right.
When the door finally opened again, the corridor beyond felt brighter than it should have, even without windows. The academy's older stone absorbed sound; my footsteps echoed too loudly as I climbed back up, past locked doors and forgotten hallways, back toward the parts of the school people pretended were safe.
By the time I reached the clinic, dusk had crept in. The light slanted low through the narrow windows, turning dust motes into sparks. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, sealing the wards with a practiced motion that didn't quite steady my hands.
I didn't sit.
I paced.
The letter in the desk drawer burned like a coal. The memory of the first-year's arm runes biting into skin kept intruding, sharp as a needle. Seraphina's voice followed close behind it, calm and unyielding.
Visibility works.
"Fine," I muttered. "Let's talk about visibility."
I pulled the drawer open and took the letter out again, laying it flat on the desk. Read it once more. The words were still polite. Still slippery. Still offering to make things easier.
I took a deep breath, then turned the page over and wrote one line across the back, slow and deliberate, pressing the pen hard enough to score the paper.
No intermediaries. Direct access only.
I folded it once. Twice. And left it where anyone with the right reach would find it.
Then I opened the clinic doors.
Not all the way just enough that the wards stayed active, visible as a faint shimmer in the air. A signal. Not a breach.
The corridor outside was empty for a heartbeat.
Then the whispers started.
People drifted closer, curiosity pulling them in. A few students stopped outright, staring. One of the guards down the hall straightened, eyes narrowing, then turned and walked off at a brisk pace.
Good.
Let them look.
The first person through the door wasn't who I expected.
Seraphina stepped inside like she owned the space, frost whispering at her heels. She took in the open door, the visible wards, the set of my shoulders and smiled. Not wide. Not triumphant. But unmistakably pleased.
"You decided," she said.
"I drew a line," I replied. "They'll cross it."
"Of course they will," she said. "That's how lines work."
She didn't sit. Instead, she came to stand beside the desk, fingers brushing the edge, eyes on the open doorway.
"You understand what this does," she said. "People will attach themselves to you. Publicly."
"I know."
"And some will try to use me," she added calmly. "As proof. As leverage."
I met her gaze. "I won't allow that."
Her expression softened just a fraction. "I believe you."
Another presence slipped in behind her, light on her feet.
Lyra.
She stopped short when she saw the open door, eyebrows shooting up. "Oh. We're doing that now."
"Yes," I said.
She grinned, sharp and delighted. "Finally. I was getting bored of subtle."
She hopped onto the edge of the desk and swung her legs. "Word's already moving. You've got three different rumor versions going. One says you're opening a public clinic. One says you're being arrested tonight. And one says you're engaged."
Seraphina arched an eyebrow. "To whom?"
Lyra shrugged. "Undecided. The imagination is flexible."
I ignored both of them and reached for the ledger. Opened it. Turned to a clean page.
"First," I said, "we formalize what already exists."
I wrote as I spoke.
"Appointments remain confidential. Consent remains explicit. No intermediaries. No exceptions."
Lyra leaned forward, reading upside down. "Ooo. Add 'no coercive magic within ten paces'—that'll make certain people twitch."
I wrote it in.
Seraphina nodded approvingly. "Good."
The wards chimed softly, the sound deeper than usual. Someone had stepped close enough to trigger the outer ring.
I looked up.
Brother Calven stood just outside the threshold, hands folded, expression neutral. He didn't try to enter.
"That was quick," I said.
He inclined his head. "You've made a public gesture. It invites response."
"Then respond," I said.
He glanced at the ledger, at Seraphina, at Lyra. "You are centralizing influence."
"I'm making it visible," I corrected. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" he asked mildly.
"Yes," Seraphina said before I could answer. "Invisible power rots. Visible power draws challenge."
Calven studied her, eyes sharp. "And you intend to stand here?"
"Yes," she replied. "Openly."
A pause. Long enough to feel.
"Very well," Calven said at last. "Then understand this will be reported."
"Good," I said. "Accuracy matters."
His gaze returned to me. "You are choosing scrutiny over safety."
"I'm choosing responsibility," I replied.
For the first time, something like respect flickered across his face. Or maybe it was calculation. With him, it was hard to tell.
"I will observe," he said. "Closely."
"I expect nothing less."
He stepped back, the corridor swallowing him.
The wards settled.
Lyra let out a low whistle. "You just made yourself a centerpiece."
"Someone had to," I said.
The door creaked again.
This time, a student stepped in older than the first-year from before, posture stiff, eyes darting. He stopped short when he saw Seraphina.
"My lord—" he began, then corrected himself, flustered. "Lady Valdris."
She turned to him, cool and composed. "Speak."
"I… I was told to come here," he said, glancing at me. "They said you could—"
"I can," I said. "Sit."
He did, hands shaking.
As I approached, the warmth rose in my palms, eager. The diagnostic sense unfurled, mapping tension, fear, the faint aftertaste of coercion that clung to him like smoke.
Not carved.
Spoken.
Threatened.
"Who told you to come?" I asked gently.
He swallowed. "My cousin. He said if I didn't… if I didn't get this looked at, they'd assume I was hiding something."
Seraphina's jaw tightened.
"Look at me," I said.
He did.
"You're safe here," I said. "No one speaks for you in this room."
The words settled. His shoulders dropped an inch.
[Patient Receptiveness: 44%]
Enough.
I began not with pleasure, not with force, but with grounding warmth, steady and calm. The tension bled away slowly, like color returning to numb fingers.
Behind me, I felt Seraphina's presence like a pillar. Lyra leaned against the wall, watchful and uncharacteristically quiet.
When it was done, the student looked ten pounds lighter.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"Go," I said. "And tell anyone who asks exactly where you were."
He nodded and left, head high.
I exhaled slowly.
"That," Lyra said, "was a statement."
"It's only the first," I replied.
The system chimed not loud, not triumphant.
[Public Alignment Established]
[Anchor Network Forming]
[Warning: Opposition Will Consolidate]
Seraphina met my gaze.
"They will come harder now," she said.
"I know."
"And you?" she asked softly. "Are you ready for that?"
I thought of the first-year's arm. Of the letter. Of the chamber below the academy and the choices laid bare.
"I am," I said. "Because I'm done pretending this is small."
She smiled, and this time it wasn't cold at all.
Outside, the academy buzzed rumors tightening into intent, lines sharpening into sides.
Inside the clinic, the wards held.
And for the first time since awakening, I felt it clearly:
The line had been drawn.
And I was standing on it, in full view, daring the world to decide what came next.