Three days of classes had sanded the edges off their expectations and sharpened everything else. On the fourth night, when the campus had settled into its respectable hush and the sea kept its own counsel, Kori sent eight messages with the same three words: east court, midnight.
Crown Spine waited there like a vertebrae the Academy had grown on a dare - fifty meters of dark wood and pale stone, handholds that made no sense until they did, thin platforms tucked into the structure like commas so you could learn where to breathe. Dew stitched silver along the climbing holds. A small bell hung under the top lip, shaped like a rude secret.
The court lamps were turned low. The banners dreamed scarlet in the still air. The sky didn't belong to morning or night yet - that blue that makes faces look like they're concentrating.
