Refuge smelled like soap, paper, and tired people. I stepped behind the counter at third bell and took a slate. Headcount was rows and boxes, easy to track if you kept your eyes honest.
"Three at once," Lyra said. "Don’t stack them. Keep the door clear."
"Copy," I said.
We moved in time. A pair of first-years with scraped knuckles. A fourth-year with a scuffed boot and a big voice that got smaller when Lyra looked at him. Two nervous kids who kept their hands clenched. I ticked boxes, asked names, and shifted people to the bench when the line thickened.
"Good," Lyra said, not looking up.
A proctor dropped a crate. "Loan cloaks for Convoy," he called.
Lyra handed me the tag box. "Write neat," she said. "Everything we lose, we pay for."
We tagged and logged cloaks. When my hour ended, she scanned the marks. "No errors," she said. "Thank you."
"You keep this place running," I said. "I only borrowed a pen."
"Prep," she said. "Weather chart is posted."
The yard leaned toward evening. Cael met me at the board with a rolled map. He tapped the posting. "Route letters for dawn," he said. "You’re C."
"Wind?"
"Ugly," he said. "Cross shear at the second mile. Rope bridge and shallow ford both in play. Dead zone in Sector Three."
"Fun," I said.
"I’m on B." He didn’t smile. "Parallel. If you need a brace, signal low."
"Copy."
I took the Warden to the bench and checked every pin. Ten seconds on the Moth, then down. No fuzz. Gareth arrived with rope. "Bring your pretty knots," he said.
"Bring your honest auger," I said.
Pelham studied the bridge diagram and not his hat. Progress. Mira wrote up a clean list: stakes, lines, chalk, auger bits, spare ribs, wax, sleeves. She added "spare tags" and underlined it twice because she knew where points leaked.
Seraphine appeared with a runner’s note and a cool face. "Sponsors want a viewing platform on Route C," she said. "They enjoy drama."
"Tell them the wind won’t pose," I said.
"Wind never does," she replied. "Be careful."
"Change your methods," I said.
"You do love repeating yourself," she said. "One day I may listen."
"One day I may stop asking," I said.
She tilted her head, white hair catching lamplight. "No, you won’t," she said, and left.
Liora checked kits with soft blue eyes that saw everything. "Short ties," she reminded teams. "Flags behind cover. If you hear a whistle from the wrong direction, ignore it. If a bridge sways, lower your profile. Do not invent heroics."
"Understood," I said.
"Valcrey," she added, lower. "Tomorrow is a day for simple fixes and steady hands. Keep your leash at two." ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ novel★fire.net
"Two," I said. "Marrow and Hollow. Lantern only if asked."
"Good," she said. "And breathe."
I did. Four in. Hold two. Three out. The anchor settled into my heels.
Night came slow. Lamps woke. The yard thinned to footfalls and quiet voices. I set the kit for morning—rope, sleeves, wax, chalk, auger bits, straps, spare ribs. I marked the Moth tin: twelve seconds, then down. The leash held at two threads. Work made a clean line through the noise in my head.
Gareth sat on the bench with a whetstone and a joke. "If we win, I get first pick at the noodle stall," he said.
"If we finish clean, you can order for the table," I said.
Pelham looked up. "I don’t eat spicy."
"You will learn," Gareth said.
Mira didn’t look up from her slate. "Points first," she said. "Noodles second."
Lyra passed with a folio and a pace that never wasted a step. She slowed just long enough to speak without stopping. "Route C’s dead zone eats sound," she said. "Count out loud anyway. Your crew will hear your breath if they can’t hear your voice."
"Copy," I said.
She nodded once, ears a little pink, and went. She didn’t linger in a circle she wasn’t assigned to. She liked her lines clear.
Back at the board, Pierce pinned a gray band through our sector. "Dead zone. No light. No flares. I pull your team if I see fireworks. Keep it simple."
Captains nodded. We looked like workers, not heroes, and that was right.
Cael tapped the map. "If your bridge patch needs a brace, I can throw a pulse from the far end. Count me in at three, not two."
"Copy," I said. "If the ford looks honest, we’ll take it instead."
"Trust your feet," he said.
A runner came late with a sealed tube for Liora. She read, folded, and spoke to Pierce. He wrote "sweep after"—quiet, tight. I didn’t ask. Tomorrow had enough.
I went back to my room, laid the kit where my hands would find it, and checked the window latch. I thought of home long enough to feel it and let it go. Max and Nora would be asleep by now in another world. Lila would sit with the plant that refused to die and read the same page twice without seeing it. I set my palms flat on the desk until the tide passed, then breathed and stood.
On the way to lights-out, Ariadne intercepted me with her clipboard. "You met your five signatures," she said. "Next: one more hour in Refuge this week. You’ll log it clean."
"Understood."
She looked at the kit laid out in the hall light. "You look prepared," she said.
"I’m trying to be boring," I said.
"That would be new," she said, but her mouth softened. "Good luck tomorrow. Don’t give Pierce reasons to write."
"I try not to," I said.
She left with a measured stride. The hall went quiet. I checked the leash one more time. Two threads. No fuzz. I slept in pieces and didn’t fight it.
A knock woke me just before dawn. "Captain," a runner said through wood. "Weather update. Cross shear stronger at mile two. Rope bridge flagged as ’unstable but passable.’ Ford depth variable."
"Copy," I said, lacing boots.
The air outside bit a little. The yard was still damp. The flagstones were darker along the seams. We assembled at Route C’s marker. Gareth rolled his shoulders. Pelham tied and untied a knot until it felt right. Mira tucked her chalk. Lyra stood by the Refuge table, folio under her arm, watching quietly.
Pierce lifted his slate. "Convoy Under Crosswinds," he called. "Route C, Team Two—you are the lead. Plant for wind. Keep your people moving. Do not make speeches."
"Move," I said.
We jogged toward the ridge and the wind that didn’t care about sponsors or portraits. The day opened in front of us like a job with honest corners. I smiled once, small and real, then set it aside and got to work.