I did not answer her right away.
That alone seemed to amuse Elira.
The room we were in was one of the academy's unused halls. Not abandoned, just… forgotten. Old chalk dust clung to the corners like residue from lessons no one bothered to erase. The windows were tall and narrow, letting in light but not warmth. A place designed to observe without being observed.
Very on brand.
"You don't need to respond immediately," she said, folding her arms, casual. Too casual. "This isn't a test."
That was a lie. Everything with her was a test.
I looked away, not because I was shy, but because eye contact felt like consent. The more I looked at her, the more it felt like stepping onto a board already moving.
"You want me to think," I said.
"I want you to do what you always do," she replied. "Which is worse."
I exhaled through my nose. Slow. Measured. I had learned early that breathing could be a decision.
Search expedition.
Strategy.
Command, without command.
She never said the word leader. That would have been insulting. This was subtler. Cleaner. A brain behind the knife.
"You're asking a lot," I said.
She shrugged. "I'm asking exactly enough."
That annoyed me more than flattery ever could.
I paced. Three steps forward. Turn. Three steps back. The stone floor was uneven, worn down by centuries of indecision. The academy loved places like this. They made you feel small without saying a word.
"Why me," I asked, finally. "Don't give me the polished answer."
Elira's smile thinned. Not vanished. Adjusted.
"Because you don't want this," she said. "And because you understand what happens when people chase things they don't understand."
I stopped pacing.
"That's vague," I said.
"That's honest."
Silence settled between us. Not awkward. Heavy. The kind that presses against your ears.
I thought about the expeditions. The first five. Vanished. The second four. Lost to static, then nothing. Decades of silence, followed by sudden urgency. Pressure from other nations. Ceremonies. Banners. Hope dressed up as tradition.
And now her.
"You're not asking me to go," I said slowly.
"No," she agreed. "I'm asking you to make sure others don't die stupidly."
That word. Die.
It landed too easily.
I remembered another room. Another life. White walls. A paper with an A stamped on it like a verdict. The weight of expectation pressing down until breathing felt optional.
I swallowed.
"You know," I said, "for someone recruiting minds, you're terrible at easing people in."
She laughed. Actually laughed. Soft, quick, gone just as fast.
"If I eased you in," she said, "you'd lie to me. You're very good at that."
I turned to face her fully this time.
"Then answer this," I said. "How did you know."
Her brow raised. "Know what."
"Don't play dumb," I snapped, then caught myself. Too sharp. I forced my voice back down. "How did you know I wasn't just another academy freak who burned bright and burned out."
She studied me.
Not my face. My posture. My hands. The way my shoulders held tension even when I was still.
"You never burned," she said. "You rationed."
That answer made my stomach drop.
She continued, unbothered. "Prodigies consume themselves. They chase. They prove. You didn't. You waited. You watched teachers more than lessons. You adjusted when attention turned toward you. You vanished at exactly the point where praise becomes leverage."
I clenched my jaw.
"That's not normal behavior," she added. "That's someone who already knows the cost."
I laughed, short and bitter. "So what. You psychoanalyzed a fourteen year old and decided to ruin his life."
She did not flinch.
"I decided," she said, "to give you the choice before someone else made it for you."
There it was.
The threat that wasn't framed as one.
"You're already on the board," she continued. "The moment the second party went silent, the empire started looking backward. Cross-referencing. Patterns. You lit up more than you think."
I hated that she said lit up. Like I had ever wanted to glow.
"So this is about timing," I said.
"Everything is," she replied.
Another pause.
This one was mine.
If I said no, someone else would take the role. Someone eager. Someone reckless. Someone who would see lives as acceptable losses.
If I said yes, I would be stepping back onto a path I swore I'd abandoned. Responsibility. Consequence. Being needed.
I rubbed my thumb against my palm. A grounding habit. Old world muscle memory.
"What happens if I refuse," I asked.
She tilted her head. "Officially. Nothing."
Unofficially was implied.
"And if I accept," I said.
"You think," she said simply. "You advise. You never leave the academy unless you choose to."
Unless.
I hated that word.
I closed my eyes.
This world rewarded patience. I had learned that early. But patience was not the same as avoidance. Sometimes, patience meant choosing the least destructive move.
When I opened my eyes, Elira was watching me closely now. No smile. No mask.
I met her gaze.
"I don't belong to the empire," I said.
"I wouldn't insult you by assuming that," she replied.
"I don't want authority," I continued. "I don't want loyalty. I don't want to be responsible for deaths I never see."
Her expression softened. Just slightly.
"Then you're exactly who we need," she said.
I sighed. Long. Heavy.
"I'll listen," I said. "I'll think. I'll advise."
She waited.
"I won't command," I finished. "And the moment this turns into coercion, I walk."
A beat.
Then she nodded.
"Accepted," she said. No hesitation. Like she knew I'd land there.
That annoyed me too.
As she turned to leave, she paused at the door.
"One more thing," she said.
I looked up.
"You asked how I knew," she said. "The truth."
I tensed.
"You look like someone who's already died once," she finished quietly.
The door closed behind her.
I stayed there long after the light shifted, wondering when exactly my second life had started asking for payment..