Lucien knew I was coming for him before I did.
He left a note on my desk during morning lecture. I came back to Room Seven for my afternoon break and found a folded card propped against my teacup, signed with a flourish I'd come to recognize as his — half formal, half theatrical, the way Lucien did most things in writing.
*The garden bench is yours.*
*The terrace is Valeria's.*
*The chapel is Seraphina's.*
*The greenhouse is Elara's.*
*The hidden room is Nyx's.*
*The strategic planning room is Draven's.*
*I have no room. So I'll meet you in the practice hall this evening, the empty one on sub-level one. Nine o'clock. Come alone, but bring the sword. He'll want to listen to this one.*
*— L*
I read it twice. Lucien had not only anticipated my approach — he'd catalogued the conversations I'd already had, in order, and selected a meeting place that wasn't claimed by anyone else. The empty practice hall on sub-level one. A neutral space. No one's territory.
