I wake up to a warm weight pressed against my chest. Kai is tucked fully into me, his forehead just under my chin, my arm draped over his stomach like it settled there on its own sometime in the night.

  For a second, it feels awkward. Yesterday flashes through my head, the cafeteria, the words that came out wrong. I lie there and consider pulling away, just enough to give us space.

  I don’t.

  It wouldn’t be right to change how we are over one misunderstanding. And besides, I can feel it in the way he’s holding himself, even in sleep. He still needs this. He’s steady enough to rest, but not steady enough to let go.

  I smile faintly and think about how many nautical words fit that feeling, then stop myself before I go too far with it.

  We’ve got time. It’s the weekend. No early bells, no mandatory drills. We’ll still practice our forms, of course, and we’re expected to spar at least twice a day with people we don’t normally work with. The instructors insist it keeps us sharp. They’re probably right.

  My mind drifts to the E Grade evaluation next week. The thought sends a small pulse of excitement through me, sharp and clean. It’s the next step. The one we’ve been aiming for since we were kids.

  Kai and I decided on it the way kids decide big things. Loudly. Permanently. With absolute certainty. We said we’d enter E Grade together, and at ten years old, that felt as unbreakable as law. The world was supposed to work that way if you wanted something badly enough.

  So far, it has. Not easily, and not gently, but it has.

  We worked for it. Hard. Harder than most people our age. Sometimes I think that part’s a little messed up. We didn’t get childhoods like everyone else. Other kids used to laugh when they caught us sitting too close or touching for too long. They’d tell us to grow up, to stop acting like babies.

  When we did grow up, when we trained longer and harder, those same kids told us to stop acting like old men. Stop playing soldier.

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  I huff quietly at the memory. It doesn’t bother me much. Not really. Kids can be cruel. Or just loud and thoughtless. It never felt worth carrying.

  I tighten my arm just a fraction, careful not to wake Kai. His breathing stays slow and even, steady against my chest. That rhythm settles something in me.

  We’ve made it this far. We’re only sixteen. We’re not the youngest to try for E Grade, and we’re not the fastest, but we’re here. That counts for something.

  I let myself smile fully, just for a moment, then close my eyes again.

  Sleep takes me back under, carried by the quiet rise and fall of Kai’s breath.

  I’m pulled out of sleep by the bed shifting beneath me. It takes a second for my eyes to focus, but when they do, Kai’s right there, inches from my face.

  He’s staring at me.

  There’s still sleep clinging to his eyes, softening everything, and when he smiles it’s small but real. Not careful. Not guarded.

  “Thank you,” he says quietly.

  Before I can respond, he crawls right over me to get out of bed, deliberately rough about it. His knee digs into the mattress, his elbow bumps my shoulder, and he makes no effort to avoid me as he goes.

  It pulls a laugh out of me before I can stop it.

  It reminds me of the training hall, of holding him while he cried, of thinking the moment was fragile and serious. Then he’d gone and betrayed me by wiping his nose on my sleeve before dancing away like nothing had happened.

  Traitorous little bastard.

  Playful Kai is rare, which makes it easy to treasure when it shows up. He’s usually more reserved than most people. More controlled. More professional, even when he shouldn’t be.

  But at the end of the day, he’s just like me. Like a lot of us here. A sixteen year old pretending to be an adult and doing a decent job of it most of the time.

  Even if he is a little bastard, a short, deadly little bastard.

  I stretch and sit up, rolling my shoulders until the last of the stiffness works itself out. “So,” I say, grinning at his back, “my little pigeon’s in a better mood and ready to fly today?”

  Something smacks me square in the face.

  I grab it on instinct and blink down at the balled up underwear in my hand.

  “I’m not a pigeon, Cal,” Kai says, half serious, half not, already rummaging through his clothes.

  I snort and toss it back at him. He’s nearly himself again, and that settles something in my chest. I’m not trying to rush his grief. I’m not heartless. But I know him. He’s stronger than he looks, and he doesn’t break easily.

  Besides, today’s going to test us anyway.

  I swing my legs off the bed and start getting dressed, energy creeping back in. Today we finally get to see what we’re really made of.

  We’re dueling Finn and Banks, and if things go right, we’re coming out on top.