She woke before the Academy did.

  The room was still dark, the air cool against her skin as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Tessa was asleep, turned toward the wall, breathing slow and even. Lysara paused long enough to be sure she wouldn’t wake her, then moved.

  She dressed quickly, hands moving by habit—shirt, vest, skirt, boots. Hair pulled back once, uneven, good enough. There would barely be time to eat.

  The corridor was quiet as she slipped out, stone cool beneath her steps. The Academy wasn’t awake yet, but it was no longer asleep either—doors opening somewhere above, the distant echo of movement carrying through the inner ring.

  The refectory was already open.

  She took what she could carry—a roll, something warm poured into a cup she didn’t examine, a strip of dried fruit tucked into her pocket. She ate standing, shoulders angled toward the exit, eyes already mapping the day.

  Apothecary Foundations at eight.

  Beast Studies after.

  Alchemy lab by midday—across the inner ring.

  Circle Logic in the afternoon.

  Potion lab after that. And then whatever the evening demanded.

  She routed herself past the library on the way out of the refectory, just long enough to confirm what she’d flagged the night before. No lingering. No margin for it. The Apothecary wing cut cleanly through the inner ring, but Beast Studies meant stairs, and Alchemy meant distance.

  She adjusted her pace and moved.

  By the time Apothecary began, she was seated with her head buried in the course outline, notes already open, the sharp scent of crushed leaves filling the room. Professor Thorne didn’t waste time.

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  “Second term,” she said flatly. “You’ve been taught enough by now to hurt people. This course exists to make sure you don’t.”

  Her gaze moved across the room.

  “Your workstations have been assigned. From this point on, you are responsible for maintaining your own station—including specimens and preparations.”

  Chairs stilled. Pages stopped turning.

  Specimens moved down the benches. Instructions followed without pause. Lysara answered when called on, her voice even, her attention narrowing as everything extraneous fell away.

  Beast Studies followed without space to reset. Diagrams replaced specimens. Notes grew heavier.

  By midday, her fingers ached from writing.

  She crossed two courtyards and a stairwell to reach the Alchemy wing. At the station board, her name appeared twice.

  Two workstations.

  Primary and secondary.

  Materials were already laid out. Distribution tags clipped in place.

  She took note and moved without comment.

  Heat built. Circles held. Timing mattered. At the secondary station, a reaction wavered, threatened instability, and she adjusted the flow instinctively, breath caught until containment settled.

  No one remarked on it.

  The logs would show the result.

  Circle Logic demanded focus she had to dig for.

  Chalk dust coated her hands as she traced proofs she already knew, checking them anyway. A single error would cascade. The inscribed floor hummed softly beneath her boots. She stayed precise. She had no other option.

  Potion lab came last.

  Extracts simmered. Measurements repeated. One batch failed and had to be remade. No one complained. Failure was expected. Wasted time was not.

  When she finally stepped back into the corridor, the light outside the windows had shifted toward evening. Her legs registered the distance she’d covered since morning.

  She didn’t return to the dorm.

  The library was already lit, its quiet steady and familiar. She claimed a narrow alcove she’d used before, notes spread, shoulders easing as the noise of the day loosened its grip.

  She read. Cross-referenced. Flagged entries for later.

  At some point—she wasn’t sure when—her head tipped forward.

  Just for a moment.

  Ten minutes, maybe.

  She woke before anyone commented, straightened, and continued.

  Tomorrow would start the same way.