---
John glanced at him. "That sounds exhausting."
Fizz grinned. "For you, yes."
They walked back toward East House, toward their room, toward Ray Flame's bed that always looked like it had been slept in by a storm. The corridor smelled faintly of chalk and soap.
John's hand brushed the permit in his pocket once, a small touch to reassure himself it was real.
He did not feel arrogant. He felt responsible.
And for the first time since the White House had thrown him away, he felt like he was building something that could not be taken by a single cruel decision.
Fizz floated ahead and declared, loud enough for a passing student to hear, "Attention everyone, my disciple has acquired secret authority. Please line up to be impressed."
John grabbed him gently by the tail fluff and pulled him back.
Fizz squeaked. "Assault. Oppression. Tyranny."
John kept walking. "Quiet."
Fizz sighed dramatically. "Fine. I will be quietly impressed."
