Miss Nanda filled the doorway like a drawn line.
Not big like Barrek. Not heavy like Sir Erdallion.
But when she stood there, the room stopped.
Her eyes took everything in at once—Arlo on one knee, one hand clamped to his stomach, the other wiping red from his mouth. Me standing too close, fist still half clenched, burnt cookie pieces scattered across the floorboards like someone had shattered something small and precious.
Her gaze landed on my hand.
"Step back," she said.
No shout. No panic. Just a flat command that made my feet move before my pride could argue.
I took one step. Then another.
"Open your hand," she said.
My fingers uncurling felt strangely difficult, like my muscles didn't want to admit what they'd done. When my palm finally opened, I saw it properly—my knuckles were already swelling, skin scraped.
Miss Nanda didn't react.
"Hands where I can see them," she added.
I lifted them slightly, stiff and awkward.
Arlo made a choking sound like he was trying to speak, then bent over harder, face twisting. A wet gag rose in his throat. His shoulders shook.
This wasn't just "punched kid drama."
This was something else.
Miss Nanda's attention snapped to him immediately.
"Arlo," she said, voice still calm. "Can you stand?"
Arlo tried.
He got halfway up and nearly folded again, clutching his stomach as if it was trying to tear itself free.
"I—I can," he lied, breath ragged. "I'm fine—"
He wasn't.
Miss Nanda moved into the room. She didn't rush, but she crossed the distance fast, kneeling beside Arlo without hesitation. Her hand hovered near his shoulder—not touching yet, assessing.
Then her eyes shifted to the burnt cookies.
The smell hung heavy now that I wasn't numb with adrenaline: not sweet-burnt like overbaked sugar, but sharp and dry, like something had been scorched too quickly.
Miss Nanda's nostrils flared slightly.
"Trey," she said without looking at me. "Pick up the pouch."
My stomach dropped. "Yes, ma'am."
I crouched and gathered the cloth pouch carefully, scooping the scattered pieces in with shaking fingers. Some were cracked and blackened. Some had dark glossy spots like they'd been charred in an instant instead of baked.
I didn't eat any. I didn't even bring them close again.
Arlo's earlier shout still rang in my ears.
Poison… you will die…
Miss Nanda rose smoothly.
"We're going to the infirmary," she said.
Arlo's eyes widened. "I don't need—"
"You do," she cut in, still calm. "Now."
She looked at me.
"And you," she added, tone shifting in a way that made my spine straighten. "You're coming. You don't get to disappear after you hit someone."
My chest tightened.
"Yes, ma'am."
Miss Nanda helped Arlo up. He tried to walk on his own, stubborn even while pale, but his steps were uneven. Every few breaths he winced and pressed his hand tighter to his stomach.
He didn't look at me.
I didn't know if that was mercy or disgust.
We moved into the hallway. The guild outside was louder than the classroom, but the moment people saw Miss Nanda walking with a sick trainee and a clenched-fist kid behind them, the noise softened. Not completely. The guild never fully softened.
But eyes followed.
Whispers didn't start yet.
They waited.
My face burned as if every glance was a finger pointing at my guilt.
Miss Nanda didn't acknowledge the attention. She just walked, steady, guiding Arlo forward.
The infirmary was tucked farther back—cleaner halls, less traffic, the scent of herbs and boiled cloth replacing oil and sweat. A sign hung above the door in neat lettering.
Inside, a healer looked up from a table, hands stained with something dark.
Her gaze flicked to Arlo, then to Miss Nanda, and she immediately set down what she was holding.
"What happened?" the healer asked.
"Stomach pain," Miss Nanda said. "Severe. He ate something."
Arlo made a weak protesting sound. "It's not—"
"It is," Miss Nanda said.
The healer guided Arlo onto a narrow bed. He sat at first, then slumped, breathing fast and shallow like he was trying not to throw up again.
Miss Nanda turned to me.
"Stand there," she ordered, nodding to the side of the room. "Quietly."
I obeyed.
My hands hovered awkwardly in front of me. I didn't know where to put them. I didn't trust them in my pockets.
The healer began checking Arlo—pressing lightly on his abdomen, watching his face, murmuring instructions. Arlo hissed through his teeth and looked like he wanted to argue and couldn't afford the energy.
Miss Nanda watched for a moment. Then she held out her hand to me without looking away from Arlo.
"The pouch."
I stepped forward and placed it into her palm.
She opened it slightly, peered inside, and her eyes narrowed again.
The healer glanced up. "Burnt?"
Miss Nanda brought the pouch closer and sniffed once.
"Charred," she corrected quietly.
The healer's brows drew together, but she didn't ask more. She returned to Arlo, pulling out a small vial and measuring drops into a cup of water.
Arlo eyed it suspiciously. "What is that?"
"Something to settle your stomach," the healer said. "Drink."
Arlo drank, grimacing.
Miss Nanda waited until the healer moved to fetch something from a shelf, then turned to us—first Arlo, then me.
Her voice lowered, controlled.
"Now," she said. "You will both explain. From the beginning."
Arlo swallowed hard. His face was still pale, but his eyes had sharpened. He hated being treated like a problem to be solved.
He spoke first, words tumbling out with the same bluntness he always carried.
"I didn't mean to make her cry," he said.
My stomach twisted.
Miss Nanda's gaze snapped to him. "Her?"
Arlo's jaw tightened. "Mya."
Miss Nanda didn't react outwardly, but I saw a small shift in her expression—recognition. She knew the trainees. She knew their patterns.
She looked at me. "Trey. Start."
My throat tightened. I forced the words out.
"After class," I said, voice stiff, "I saw Mya give Arlo a pouch of cookies. Then… later I saw Mya leave the guild crying. I followed back to the classroom. The door was open, but no one was inside. I found the pouch spilled. The cookies were… burnt. I started cleaning it."
I swallowed, shame rising like acid.
"And… Arlo came in. He told me not to eat them," I finished.
Miss Nanda held my gaze. "And before that?"
My chest tightened harder.
I didn't want to say it, but lying would be worse.
"Lyan hit me," I admitted. "In the classroom. On purpose."
Arlo's eyes flicked sideways at me for a heartbeat. Confirmation, almost.
Miss Nanda's eyes sharpened. "Did he."
I nodded.
Arlo swallowed, then added through clenched teeth, "I saw it."
Miss Nanda's gaze moved to Arlo. "You saw it and said nothing."
Arlo looked away, stubborn. "I didn't think—"
"You didn't think," Miss Nanda echoed softly, and somehow that was worse than yelling. "Noted."
She didn't dwell on Lyan yet. She filed it away like a knife slipped into a sheath.
Then she looked at Arlo again.
"Explain the word you used," she said.
Arlo blinked, confused. "What word?"
Miss Nanda's eyes didn't move. "Poison."
Arlo's face reddened faintly despite his pallor.
"It—" he started, then winced as his stomach rolled. He pressed his hand there again. "It's not actually poison. I… I panicked."
Miss Nanda waited.
Arlo exhaled sharply, angry at himself and at the room and at the pain.
"I ate one cookie," he said. "Just one. And then my stomach—" He grimaced, swallowing bile. "It felt like… like a monster was inside me trying to claw out."
His eyes flashed. "So I said poison. Because it felt like I was dying."
Melodramatic. Dramatic enough to make my skin crawl.
And yet… watching him now, shaking and pale, I couldn't laugh at it.
Miss Nanda nodded once, as if acknowledging the truth behind the exaggeration.
"Who made the cookies?" she asked.
Arlo hesitated.
My chest tightened again.
He looked at me like he didn't want to speak Mya's name in front of a teacher right after making her cry.
"Mya," Arlo said quietly. "She gave them to me."
Miss Nanda's eyes flicked toward the infirmary door as if she could see all the way to the guild entrance. As if she could see Mya already gone.
"She went home," I said quickly, because the silence was about to swallow the room. "She left before I came back."
Miss Nanda's gaze returned to me. "I know."
The way she said it—flat, controlled—made it clear she wasn't going to send someone running through the streets to fetch a crying girl tonight.
Not because she didn't care.
Because she did.
Because dragging Mya back into the guild right now, in tears, into a room with a sick boy and an angry boy and an adult asking sharp questions… would only make it worse.
Miss Nanda continued like a blade slicing a thread.
"Arlo," she said. "Why was Mya crying."
Arlo flinched.
"I…" He swallowed. "I said the cookies were bad."
The words were plain. The impact was not.
I felt my fists tighten again, reflexive.
Miss Nanda's eyes flicked to my hands.
I forced my fingers open.
Arlo went on, voice defensive and cracking.
"I wasn't trying to be cruel," he insisted. "I just… I just said what I thought. They smelled weird. They looked weird. I said it tasted wrong. And she—she got upset."
His mouth twisted, frustration and regret tangled together.
"She kept smiling like it was fine," Arlo said, breathing harder. "Like she wanted me to say they were good. But they weren't. So I didn't."
Miss Nanda studied him.
She didn't absolve him.
But she also didn't condemn him like he was evil.
"You don't understand delivery," she said quietly. "You understand truth. Not how truth lands."
Arlo's eyes hardened, but there was shame under it.
"I tried to warn him," Arlo muttered, nodding toward me. "Even after he… after he hit me. I came back because—because I didn't want him to eat it."
The words hit me like a stone.
He came back.
Sick, embarrassed, in pain—and still came back to stop me.
My stomach lurched.
Miss Nanda looked at me again.
"And you," she said.
I couldn't meet her eyes.
"I asked him if he made her cry," I whispered. "He said he didn't mean it. Then he started talking again and I—"
My voice broke.
"I hit him," I finished, and the words tasted like ash.
Miss Nanda's silence stretched.
I waited for anger.
For shouting.
For punishment.
Instead, she spoke softly enough that I had to lean my mind toward her words.
"Do you understand what you did, Trey?"
I swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Say it," she demanded.
My throat burned. I forced the truth out.
"I hit someone who didn't hit back," I said, voice shaking. "Someone who was sick. I… I lost control."
Miss Nanda's gaze pinned me.
"Yes," she said. "You did."
She held the pouch of cookies in her hand like evidence.
"You were already unstable today," she continued. "Tired. In pain. Emotionally raw."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And then you put your hands on someone because you didn't like their words."
Heat rose in my face, shame turning into something sharp and defensive inside my chest.
"It wasn't just words," I blurted before I could stop myself. "He made her cry."
Miss Nanda's eyes did not soften.
"And you think that gives you permission to become a fist," she said, calm and dangerous. "Listen to me, Trey."
Her tone lowered further.
"Restraint is a skill," she said. "If you can't control yourself in a classroom, you won't control yourself when it matters."
My heart hammered.
Those words weren't about Arlo.
They were about the Abyss.
About pressure.
About aura.
About the kind of power that could crush people without touch.
Miss Nanda's voice stayed steady.
"I don't care how noble your intention felt," she said. "The guild does not run on intentions. It runs on outcomes."
She gestured toward Arlo on the bed.
"That outcome is a boy on his knees, bleeding, while already ill," she said.
My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might throw up too.
Arlo's eyes flicked to me, something complicated in them—anger, yes, but also the blunt confusion of someone who didn't understand why people hurt each other and then looked guilty afterward.
Miss Nanda's gaze sharpened again.
"This will not become a rumor circus," she said. "Do you understand?"
I nodded quickly.
"Good," she said. "Because if the guild hears 'poison cookies' and 'punched trainee,' Mya becomes a target. Arlo becomes a joke. And you become a problem."
She paused.
"You don't want that," she said, and it wasn't a question.
"No," I whispered.
Miss Nanda exhaled once, controlled.
"Here is what will happen," she said.
My spine straightened. I braced.
"You will apologize to Arlo," she said. "Today. Properly. Not a muttered 'sorry' while staring at the floor."
My throat tightened.
"And you will apologize to Mya," she continued. "Tomorrow. You will not chase her home tonight. You will not make a scene. You will speak to her when she is calm, with respect."
I nodded again, faster.
Miss Nanda's gaze did not leave my face.
"And you will have consequences," she said.
My stomach sank.
"After dinner," she said, "you will report to the guild's cleaning hall. You will scrub the training room weapon racks and the classroom floor until they shine. Not as humiliation. As discipline. You will learn to put your body to work without letting your emotions steer it."
My hands trembled slightly.
"Yes, ma'am," I managed.
Miss Nanda continued, voice precise.
"You will also write a reflection," she said. "One page. In clear handwriting. You will explain what you did, why you did it, and what you will do differently next time."
I swallowed.
"And if you try to hide behind fatigue or grief," she said quietly, "I will make your life much harder."
The words were not cruel.
They were honest.
My eyes stung.
"Yes, ma'am," I whispered again.
Miss Nanda's gaze flicked to Arlo.
"And you," she said, turning slightly. "You will also apologize to Mya. You will learn to speak truth without cutting people open."
Arlo scowled. "I was just—"
Miss Nanda's look shut him up.
Arlo swallowed hard, then muttered, "Yes, ma'am."
The healer returned and placed a warm cloth on Arlo's forehead, then checked his pulse with practiced fingers.
"His stomach will settle," the healer said to Miss Nanda. "Whatever it was, it hit him hard. He should rest here for a while."
Miss Nanda nodded.
Then she turned to me one last time.
"This incident will reach ears above mine," she said.
My blood went cold.
Above hers.
The guild had many layers. Veterans. Instructors. Receptionists.
And then… the top.
Sir Erdallion.
Nerissa had said he didn't offer his time like charity.
I'd just shown I couldn't control myself.
The fear that rose in my chest was sharp enough to steal air.
Miss Nanda saw it.
She didn't comfort me.
She didn't have to.
"Go," she said. "Rest. And when you apologize, mean it."
I hesitated, then turned to Arlo.
He lay back on the bed, still pale, still clutching his stomach, the cloth on his forehead dampening sweat. He looked younger like this. Less blunt. More human.
My throat tightened.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Arlo's eyes flicked to me.
I forced myself not to look away.
"I shouldn't have hit you," I said, voice rough. "I… lost control."
Arlo's expression twisted like he wanted to say something sharp and didn't have the strength.
He swallowed.
Then, quietly, he said, "I shouldn't have said that."
Not forgiveness.
Not war.
Just… an awkward, honest brick placed between us.
Miss Nanda nodded once, satisfied enough to end the moment.
"Go," she repeated.
I left the infirmary with my chest tight and my hands tingling.
My knuckles throbbed. My mind throbbed worse.
I walked through the guild like someone who didn't deserve the floor under his feet.
***
Back upstairs, the guest room swallowed me in silence again.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands.
They looked the same as always.
Small. Thin.
But today they'd been capable of hurting someone.
My stomach turned.
I pictured Mya running past me with tears on her chin.
I pictured Arlo collapsing, clutching his stomach, still running back to warn me anyway.
I pictured Miss Nanda's eyes—steady, disappointed, not cruel.
And under all of it, like a shadow under water, I felt the fear of Sir Erdallion hearing about this.
If he hears you lost control, he'll make you prove you deserve the training.
Ash had said something like that once, joking. But now it didn't feel like a joke.
It felt like a door closing.
I lay back and tried to breathe slowly.
In. Out.
In. Out.
Restraint is a skill.
I repeated the words in my head until they stopped sounding like a sentence and started sounding like a command.
I didn't know how to become restrained overnight.
I only knew how to keep moving forward.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I stared at the ceiling and waited for the day to end.
***
Evening came.
The guild's noises shifted—less frantic, more tired. The smell of food drifted up the stairs, making my stomach twist because I hadn't eaten properly again.
I forced myself to swallow some bread and water anyway.
Not because I wanted it.
Because I didn't want to waste anyone's time with "bad nutrition," and even thinking that phrase made my shoulders tighten.
After dinner, I went down to do my punishment.
I scrubbed.
Wood racks. Iron hooks. The classroom floor where burnt cookie crumbs had been.
My arms ached. My legs screamed. My knuckles pulsed.
But the work was simple.
It didn't care about my feelings.
It just demanded effort.
By the time I returned to the guest room, the sky outside the window had turned black.
I closed the door behind me and leaned my forehead against it for a moment, exhausted.
Tomorrow I'd apologize to Mya.
Tomorrow I'd face the class again.
Tomorrow I'd carry the weight of my own fist and try not to become it again.
I pushed away from the door and took two steps into the room—
Knock. Knock.
I froze.
The sound came again, crisp and controlled.
Knock. Knock.
My heart jumped into my throat.
No one visited the guest rooms at night.
Not unless something was wrong.
I walked to the door slowly, my bare feet silent on the wood.
Before I could reach for the handle, a voice spoke through the door.
Flat.
Uninterested.
Familiar in the way it made my skin prickle.
"The Guild Master left instructions," the mysterious voice said. "You'll report tonight."
No explanation.
No warmth.
Just a statement like a stamped order.
My stomach dropped.
Tonight.
Not three days.
Not "rest until you're ready."
Tonight.
I swallowed hard, fingers closing around the handle.
"Wait—" I started, but the hallway was already silent.
I yanked the door open.
The corridor outside was empty.
No footsteps retreating.
No shadow turning the corner.
No rustle of cloth.
Just lantern light and still air, stretching both ways like nothing had spoken at all.
I stared down the hall, breath held.
Nothing.
My skin prickled.
Slowly, I stepped into the hallway and looked left.
Empty.
Looked right.
Empty.
My pulse hammered so loud I could hear it in my ears.
I turned back toward my room.
The open door waited behind me like a mouth.
And the silence of the corridor felt… wrong.
Like the guild itself was holding its breath.
I stepped back inside, closing the door carefully.
My hands shook.
The words echoed in my head again, cold and clear:
The Guild Master left instructions. You'll report tonight.
And whatever comfort the guest room had ever offered was gone.