The infirmary was quiet at three in the afternoon.
Not empty — the waiting area had two students from the senior year working through a post-training assessment — but the specific quality of a medical space outside its peak hours: the crystal fixtures running at the lower, warmer output, the administrative assistant handling records at the front desk, the distant sound of the kitchen two floors above doing its afternoon preparation.
Healer Nasha Rei was in the consultation room at the back. The door was open.
"You're punctual," she said when I came in. She was at the consultation table with a folder that was not the standard medical record — larger format, older cover, the kind of administrative file that came from the academy's deep archive rather than the current records system.
"You said three o'clock," I said.
