The Academy after curfew felt wrong.
During the day the halls were polished and full of quiet. At night the same halls felt hollow. Every footstep sounded like a shout. Mana lanterns along the walls hummed low and steady and threw pale pools on the floor. The shadows sat deep in the doorways like crouched things.
Rem walked anyway.
He did his best impression of casual.
Which for him meant a loose prowl, weight rolling off his hips, jacket open, hands in his pockets like he was out to scare pigeons instead of sneaking into a sealed training wing.
He tried to whistle.
He couldn't whistle.
"Yeah," he muttered to himself. "Real natural. Nobody will suspect anything."
A cleaning attendant came the other way pushing a cart. She took one look at Rem, looked at the dagger riding low across his back, and then decided she'd never seen him in her entire life. She turned down a different hall.
That helped.
He cut down a narrow set of stairs into one of the older parts of the combat wing. Down here the air felt thicker, like old blood and chalk dust had soaked into the stone years ago and never left. The walls wore scars. Scraped gouges. Impact cracks. Not polished. Used.
Training Hall C sat at the end of a corridor with arched ceilings and iron-banded doors.
Evelyn was already there.
Of course she was.
She leaned against the wall opposite the door, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. Gloves off and tucked into her belt. A few dark strands had pulled loose from her tight braids and curled against her cheek.
Her face for once wasn't Academy-perfect.
It looked like she'd been thinking too hard for too long.
She saw him and rolled her eyes immediately.
"Subtle," she said softly. "You're about as discreet as a bonfire, you know that."
"I tried to whistle," Rem said.
"That doesn't make you subtle," she said.
"It helps me look casual."
"It makes you look concussed."
He grinned.
"Close the door," she said. "Before someone with too much free time walks by and decides to score points by reporting us."
Rem tipped his chin at the iron-banded door. "That's you, right?"
Evelyn lifted her right hand and traced a small shape in the air. It wasn't flashy. No sparks, no glow. Just a hum in the ward plate by the handle. The sigil clicked. The iron bands unlocked with a metal shiver.
"You just broke into a sealed training hall," Rem said.
"It's not breaking in if I'm authorized," she said.
"Are you authorized."
"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," she said, pushing the door with her shoulder.
The hall beyond smelled like old sweat and oil. Not the gleaming, glass-walled practice arenas upstairs. This room had history on it. Faded chalk circles. Scoring mannequins in the corner, patched and repatched. Tiles with spider-web cracks where someone had been slammed too hard and the floor never fully healed.
Rem stepped inside and inhaled like he'd been underwater all day and finally found air.
He liked it here.
Evelyn flicked her wrist and low mage-lights bloomed along the ceiling, soft and dim. Enough to see. Not enough to bleed through the high windows and betray them.
The door clicked shut behind them.
"Before we start," she said, voice low and serious now, "you do not talk about this to anyone. Not Harry. Not instructors. Definitely not to His Highness. You tell no one I trained you. If someone asks why you're moving better in two days, you say you trained alone and figured it out with 'raw instinct'. You say it like that. Then you lie again if they push. Say it back to me."
"I lie," Rem said.
"Louder."
"I lie," he repeated.
"Good," she said. "Now. Show me how you actually stand with that thing on your back."
Rem reached behind him and pulled the dagger free.
The sound it made wasn't pretty. It had weight under it. The kind of weight you feel in your joints.
He held it up.
Evelyn's eyes widened. "You actually carry that all day?"
"Yeah," Rem said.
"On your body. All day."
"Yeah."
She blinked. "Rem. That's not a dagger. That's illegal infrastructure."
"Livesey calls it a dagger," Rem said.
"Livesey is out of his mind," she said.
"He said something like that, yeah."
She stepped into the center of the room and pointed at the floor. "Stand there. Blade out. Don't think. Just show me what you do if someone tells you to prove you aren't useless right now."
Rem planted his feet in the worn center ring and let himself fall into what felt natural.
Weight on the balls of his feet. Knees soft. Shoulders loose. Blade down and behind, tip low, ready to come up in a brutal arc.
He knew it wasn't pretty.
He didn't care about pretty.
Pretty doesn't stop something from biting your face off. Stopping does.
Evelyn circled him like she was reading a spell diagram. Her eyes narrowed.
"First problem," she muttered. "You're sitting too heavy on your back heel. I get why. The weight is obscene. You're bracing so you don't pitch forward. But if Lucien baits you and you have to drive forward out of that stance, you're dragging half a mountain with you. He'll make you chase. He wants you to chase. He'll make you look slow because you have to work twice as hard to cover the same ground."
Rem shifted instantly.
Center lower. Weight shifted forward just a hair. Balance tighter.
Evelyn stopped for half a second like she hadn't expected him to just do it.
"You actually listen," she whispered.
"You told me to," Rem said.
"Most boys in this year don't," she muttered. "They nod and then try to impress me doing it worse."
"I'm not most boys in this year," he said.
Her throat jumped. "No," she said. "You're not."
She cleared her throat. "Second problem. Your follow-through is too wide. Watch."
She stepped in, mimicking his grip with empty hands, and flowed through his normal strike. She'd seen it. Everyone had seen it. The stadium had felt it.
"You wind up like this," she said. She lifted her imaginary blade high and back over her shoulder. "You put your entire spine behind the swing and you bring it down like you're trying to cut the world in half. Which, fine, yes, it's horrifying. But the second you raise like that, your ribs are open. Your throat is open. Your knee is open. If Lucien is still standing there, you break him. If Lucien is not still standing there, which he will not be, you just gave him your whole centerline for free."
Rem rubbed the back of his jaw with his wrist. "Can't just break his arm before he moves?"
"He'll let you grab the arm on purpose so he can pivot under you and trip you," she said. "He's not trying to beat you in damage. He's trying to beat you in humiliation."
"That's annoying," Rem said.
"Welcome to dueling," she said.
"Your dueling is bad," he said.
She choked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm serious," he said. "It's annoying. I hate it."
"Good," she snapped. "Hate it and adapt. Try to hit me."
He stared. "I'm not hitting you."
"You're not going to hit me," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're going to try. You're going to show me what you do first, and I'm going to show you where Lucien will ruin you if you do that in front of everyone. I am not letting him use you to spit on my family name in front of His Highness. So swing."
Rem took a breath.
"Don't cry when I win," he said.
"I will sob dramatically," she said.
He moved.
He never warned. He just stepped in and let the blade come up, close and violent.
Evelyn wasn't there.
She didn't dodge back like Leila had, throwing her whole body into raw speed. Evelyn's movement was small and mean. She slid half a step to his right, almost into him instead of away from him, and Rem's blade came down on air where her throat had been.
His arm kept going because the dagger was heavy and momentum is law.
"There," she said calmly, now behind his shoulder. "Right there. That's where you die. You commit everything to the first swing. He isn't there. He taps your knee and you're face-first in front of the entire class before you even finish your pretty smash. Again."
Rem exhaled through his nose.
"Again," he said.
"Again," she said.
They ran it. Again, again, again. She slid under his arc this time instead of around it. Her palm brushed his wrist and she redirected, not blocked. The dagger slammed into the tile instead of a body.
The floor cracked.
The noise hit the room like thunder.
Evelyn winced. "And that's the other problem. If you miss and land like that in the arena, they're going to laugh. He wants them to laugh. He'll bow at the end and pretend to praise your 'raw power.' He'll sell it like charity. You cannot give him that moment."
Rem blew out a breath. "That's disgusting."
"That's Lucien," she said.
"I hate him," Rem said.
"Good," she said.
He reset. This time he didn't wind up behind his own spine. He kept his shoulders lower. He drove from his hips instead of throwing his chest forward.
The strike that came out wasn't big.
It was fast.
Evelyn's eyes widened. Her head snapped out of the way a half-beat later than her pride would have liked.
"There," she said, and there was a breath in her voice this time. "Do that. Do that again."
"I thought that was cheating," he said.
"That's called efficient," she said.
"Why'd you almost get hit if it's so obvious," he said.
Her mouth opened. Closed. "Did you just say I almost got hit?"
"You almost got hit," he said, smug.
"You are unbearable," she whispered.
"You like me," he whispered back.
"Die," she whispered, cheeks going red.
He grinned.
They worked.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Evelyn paced him like she was building him in her head. "Lower. Shorter step. Stop throwing your chest first. You're not a bull. You're not trying to gore him, you're trying to steal his rhythm. Good. Again. Hide the weight. Don't let him see you hauling it. Again. Better. Again."
Sweat soaked down Rem's spine. His shoulders shook. His grip ached. His breath came out harsh and steady.
Evelyn's breathing stuttered too, not from movement, but from the concentration and the way she kept staying close to something that could split stone with one bad angle.
Finally she lifted both hands. "Stop."
He froze, shoulders rising and falling.
"You're adapting fast," she said quietly. No noble mask now. Just honest surprise. "Most people, you correct them once and they argue. You just change. It's... impressive."
"I'm not fast," he muttered. "My legs feel like they're melting."
"Good," she said. "Melt them. Do it again tomorrow."
He snorted.
"Now give me the dagger," she said.
He blinked. "No."
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean no."
"I'm not giving you the dagger," he said. "You're going to embarrass yourself and then you'll get mad at me and cancel training out of spite and then I'll die in two days. Let's just skip to the part where I don't die."
She stared at him.
Then she laughed. A short, surprised sound like she'd been punched in the ribs by her own amusement.
"You think I can't hold your ugly piece of metal," she said.
"It's not ugly," he said. "Livesey said it's rare night metal fused with some void plant."
"That explains why it looks cursed," she muttered. "Hand it over."
"No."
"Rem."
He sighed and offered it out, grip first.
Evelyn took it with smug confidence.
For one beautiful half second, she still looked smug.
Then the weight hit.
Her wrist dropped like a cut rope. Her shoulders lurched. Her whole upper body pitched forward under the mass and she barely caught herself before the thing dragged her face-first.
She made a strangled sound and had to plant both feet wide and both hands just to keep from dropping it.
"What in the hells is this," she hissed through clenched teeth, red in the face. "Why are you walking around with a siege weapon."
"Told you," Rem said.
"This is not a dagger," she snapped. "This is a door. This is structural reinforcement. This should have a permit. You're insane. Livesey is insane. I hate both of you."
He was grinning so hard his face hurt. "Told you."
"Shut up," she hissed.
He plucked it out of her hands one-handed like it was nothing and set it back against his shoulder.
Her glare sharpened. So did the pink in her cheeks.
"That's cheating," she muttered.
"It's just my body," he said.
"Your body is rude," she muttered.
"Thanks, Nerd," he said.
Her face went a shade hotter. "Do not call me that in training."
"Yes, Nerd," he said.
"I'm going to stab you with your own weapon," she whispered.
"You're too weak to lift it," he said.
Her mouth dropped open with outrage.
She lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.
The air around her palm shimmered. Rem felt it before he understood it, a pressure along his teeth. Not aura, the physical golden force hunters used to boost their bodies. This was thinner. Colder. Threadlike. Spiritualist work.
The dagger twitched in his grip.
"Don't you dare," he warned.
It lifted.
Barely. Just a hand width off his palm, like invisible hands had hooked under it and dragged up.
Evelyn smiled slow and smug. "See? If you're not a walking mountain, you just use mana to compensate. I could swing this. It's not that complicated."
"That's cheating," Rem said immediately.
"It's called technique," she said.
"It's cheating," he said. "You're floating it with magic. That's not real."
"You could do it too," she said. The way she said it was casual. Confident. Like she thought she was just stating a basic fact.
Rem froze.
"No."
"Yes," she said, rolling her eyes. "Wake your aura up, idiot. Or mana. Whatever that thing is inside you. I don't care which one answers first. You have something. You already melted a dungeon boss and broke the floor. You shut down a scanner. You almost split Leila in half and she is rank A. You can't lie to me and pretend you're just 'strong.'"
The dagger dropped back into his palm. Her support field faded out.
He did not remember Leila's fight clearly. He remembered anger and pressure and a scream that wasn't in his throat. He remembered waking up in a crater. He remembered Evelyn's voice in his ear and her hands on his back.
He remembered feeling empty and endless and hungry.
He sucked a breath in through his teeth.
"I don't," he said quietly. "I don't remember that."
Her face shifted. The sharp edges softened. Her voice dropped. "Okay. Hey. Stop. Breathe. I'm not telling you to do it now. I'm saying you can. One day. Later. We don't need that for Lucien. Right now we only need your legs and your stupid scary core strength. Right now we just make sure he can't make you look like a slow idiot. Breathe."
He breathed.
The pressure behind his ribs slid back down. The heat settled again, banked and deep.
Evelyn hadn't moved away from him.
She was close now. Closer than she let anyone in daylight. Half an arm's length. If he reached out he could've touched her wrist. He didn't.
Something in his chest unclenched.
"Okay," he muttered.
"Okay," she echoed.
They stood there breathing for a long heartbeat, in the dim, empty hall, surrounded by cracked floor and old sweat and new tension.
Then she snapped herself back together like armor snapping into place.
"We're not done," she said briskly. "Again. Footwork. Shorter step. Keep your center low. Hide the weight. Don't swing big unless you're sure you're going to land, and if you swing big you commit all the way. You don't let him make you miss. You don't give him a show. He wants a show. Don't give him a show."
He huffed a laugh. "Bossy."
"Efficient," she said.
"Bossy," he said.
"Move," she said.
He moved.
They fell into a rhythm. Step. Pivot. Arc. Recover. Reset. Again. Again. Again.
Sweat rolled down his spine in a slow line. His shoulders burned. His thighs shook. His jaw ached.
Her hair had come loose from its perfect Academy braids, dark strands falling against her cheek. She kept blowing one out of her face in quick annoyed puffs. She didn't even notice she was doing it.
"Better," she said after one tight sequence. "Again. You're hiding the weight now. Good. Again. You're not letting it drag you forward. Again. You're not lifting your chest like you're trying to gore a boar. Good. Again."
He slammed the last strike down.
The dagger's point hit tile.
The floor cracked in a neat spiderweb.
Rem was breathing hard now. Shoulders rising and falling.
Evelyn's eyes were on him. Not analyzing now. Just looking. Something tight in her face.
"You can beat him," she said.
He looked up.
"In two days," she said. "Lucien. You can beat him. He'll still look cleaner. He'll sell the crowd. But you can take him apart in front of everybody if you don't let him run the pace."
Rem rolled that over.
"Good," he said.
"Don't get cocky."
"I'm not cocky," he said. "I'm tired."
She snorted.
Then her body went still.
Not posture. Instinct.
Rem felt it half a second later. Sound, soft and wrong, from the hallway outside.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Careful.
Trying not to be heard.
At this hour? In a sealed wing?
Evelyn moved so fast he barely tracked it. She hooked two fingers in his sleeve and pulled him sideways behind a rack of old practice poles. Her other hand flicked. The mage-lights dimmed until the room sat in low shadow.
Rem froze and held his breath.
The door handle turned.
The heavy door to Training Hall C eased open just enough for a hand-width of shadow.
Someone stood in the gap.
Not a patrol. Patrol stomped and talked like they wanted witnesses. This shape was silent, patient, listening.
Rem couldn't see a face. Just a silhouette. A shoulder. The glint of something at the hip. The breathing pattern. Slow. Controlled. Professional.
The shape waited.
Listening.
Counting.
Then, after a slow five-count, the door shut again with barely a sound.
The footsteps moved away down the hall.
Rem didn't breathe until they faded.
Only then did he feel Evelyn let out a tight, controlled exhale against his sleeve.
"That wasn't patrol," he whispered.
"No," she whispered back. "Patrol wants to be seen. That wasn't seen."
"Student?" he asked softly.
"If it's a student," she said, just as soft, "then it's a student wandering a sealed combat wing after lights, while the Imperial Heir is on campus and the Academy is on assassination alert. And if a student feels safe doing that, then either they're stupid. Or they're working for someone who thinks the rules don't apply to them."
Rem's jaw clenched.
"So it's already happening," he murmured.
"They warned us in class because it's not theory," she said. Her voice had gone cold. Quiet. Focused. "It's already here."
Rem looked at the door.
Then at her.
"Then we train faster," he said.
A breath that almost wanted to be a laugh slid out of her.
"Yeah," she said.
Her hand was still on his forearm.
He didn't ask her to move it.
"Again," she said, and the commander was back. "Short. Tight. Low. Make him work for every step he thinks he owns. I am not letting Lucien use you to spit on my House in front of His Highness."
Rem grinned.
"Yes, Nerd," he said.
Her eyes flashed. "Rem."
"Move," he said, and went in.
Training Hall C filled with the sound of impact and breath and stubborn drive. Above them, the Academy hummed like a wound under silk. And somewhere in its clean, quiet halls, someone who shouldn't have been there kept walking.