The room was quiet in a way Aerin was not used to.
She lay flat on her back atop her neatly made bed, arms resting stiffly at her sides, eyes open and unfocused as they traced the faint lines in the ceiling above. The evening light from the Sol slipped through the thin curtains in soft bands, warm and steady, casting a muted glow that made the room feel smaller, more enclosed—almost protective. Outside, the academy hummed faintly with distant movement, footsteps and voices reduced to an indistinct murmur. Inside, there was only stillness.
Too much stillness.
Aerin exhaled slowly, then again, as if testing whether her breathing still obeyed her. Her chest rose and fell in measured rhythm, disciplined even now, yet something beneath it refused to settle. Her fingers curled slightly into the bedsheet without her noticing, gripping the fabric as though it might drift away if she let go.
Across the room, Lara sat on a wooden chair pulled close to the desk. She wasn't reading, wasn't polishing instruments, wasn't even pretending to be busy. She sat there, one leg crossed over the other, her chin resting lightly on her hand, watching Aerin with a look that was neither teasing nor intrusive—just attentive.
Minutes passed like that.
Then Lara tilted her head slightly and spoke, her voice soft enough not to disturb the quiet. "You look uncomfortable."
Aerin answered too quickly. "I'm not."
The word came out sharp, automatic, the same tone she used during drills or evaluations. The same tone she used when she didn't want questions.
Lara's lips curved faintly. She let the silence return, thicker now, heavier with unspoken things.
Aerin stared at the ceiling again, irritation flickering briefly through her chest. Not at Lara. At herself. She shifted slightly, adjusting her shoulders against the mattress, but the tightness followed her movement like a shadow.
Her thoughts slipped backwards, uninvited.
Not in a rush. Not all at once.
Fragments surfaced instead.
Cyros standing across the interrogation table, posture calm, gaze steady, even as tension filled the room like a drawn wire. His voice, even and controlled, when he spoke to Patrick—never raised, never hurried. The way he had tilted his head just slightly, as if listening not only to the words being said, but to what lingered beneath them.
Then the train.
The gentle hum beneath their feet. Taren's endless commentary fading into the background. Cyros's profile as he looked ahead, thoughtful, distant—and then the moment he turned to her. The pause before he spoke.
"We had you. Top performer in physical assessments."
Aerin swallowed.
She shifted again, this time bringing one arm across her stomach, fingers pressing lightly as though grounding herself. Her heartbeat felt louder than it should have in such a quiet room. She frowned faintly, annoyed by the reaction, by the way her body responded before her thoughts could organise themselves.
Why did that moment linger?
It wasn't like Cyros had said anything remarkable. He hadn't smiled brightly or leaned closer. He hadn't framed it like a challenge or a promise. He hadn't even specified who else might come.
He had simply asked.
That was the problem.
Lara spoke again, quietly, breaking into Aerin's thoughts as gently as one might step into shallow water. "You're thinking very hard for someone who says she's fine."
Aerin turned her head slightly, just enough to glance in Lara's direction. "You're imagining things."
"Maybe," Lara said easily. "But you haven't blinked in a while."
Aerin closed her eyes at that, a brief, controlled motion. When she opened them again, the ceiling looked the same—but she felt marginally exposed, as if something she hadn't meant to reveal was already visible.
Lara leaned back in her chair, hands resting loosely in her lap. "You don't look nervous," she continued. "You look… unsettled."
Aerin hesitated.
The word fit too well.
Before she could stop herself, her thoughts spilled forward. "I don't understand why," she said quietly. "It's just a day out."
Lara's gaze softened. "Is it?"
Aerin pressed her lips together. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, her eyes drifted toward the far wall, where her wardrobe stood closed and orderly, its surface reflecting a faint sheen of light. Everything in her room was like that—aligned, intentional, functional. She had never liked clutter. She had never needed excess.
Until now.
"It's not training," Aerin said at last, her voice lower than before. "There's no objective. No structure."
Lara nodded slowly, as if she'd been expecting exactly that answer. "There it is."
Aerin turned her head again, frowning faintly. "What?"
"You've spent your whole life knowing what's expected of you," Lara said. "Strength. Precision. Results." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Tomorrow doesn't ask for any of that."
Aerin felt a strange pressure build behind her ribs. "Then what does it ask for?"
Lara smiled—not playfully, but kindly. "Choice."
The word landed heavier than Aerin expected.
Choice meant responsibility. Not to an instructor. Not to a standard. To herself.
She sat up slowly, pushing herself upright with controlled movement. The bedsheet fell away from her clenched hand, leaving faint creases behind. Sitting there, she looked less composed than usual—not dishevelled, but thoughtful in a way that bordered on vulnerable.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur. "What to say. How to act."
Lara didn't interrupt.
Aerin's gaze drifted again, this time lingering on the wardrobe. She stood and crossed the room, movements precise but hesitant, and opened the doors.
Inside, everything was arranged with care.
Her Patrol uniform hung neatly to one side, dark fabric pressed smooth, insignia polished. The gloves rested on the shelf below, familiar and worn, molded to her hands through countless hours of training. They were more than clothing—they were certainty. Armor. Identity.
Beside them were her academy casual clothes. Clean. Simple. Rarely worn except out of necessity.
She stared at them longer than she meant to.
Why did it matter?
She exhaled sharply through her nose, irritated again—not at the clothes, but at herself. She had faced opponents stronger than her without hesitation. She had endured pain, exhaustion, and scrutiny. Yet the thought of choosing what to wear tomorrow made her chest tighten.
Behind her, Lara shifted in her chair. "You're overthinking."
"I know," Aerin said immediately.
"That doesn't mean you're wrong to."
Aerin closed the wardrobe slowly, the soft click of wood echoing louder than it should have. She turned back toward the bed but didn't sit down right away. Instead, she reached for the Patrol gloves and held them in her hands.
They felt familiar. Grounding.
She thought of Cyros again—of how he had looked at her when he mentioned her strength during the train conversation. Not with admiration. Not with challenge. With trust. As though it were simply a fact, like gravity or distance.
We have you.
The memory sent an unexpected warmth through her chest.
Lara rose from her chair and stretched lightly, arms lifting above her head before settling back at her sides.
Aerin returned to the bed and lay back, this time on her side, facing the wall. The room felt quieter now—not empty, but calm in a way it hadn't been before. The Sol's light dimmed gradually as evening deepened, shadows stretching longer across the floor.
Lara moved toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back. Aerin didn't look at her, but she listened.
"You don't have to decide everything tonight," she said gently.
Aerin inhaled slowly.
Then, without turning around, she nodded to Lara's words.