Combat class the next afternoon started the same as always. Laps around the arena, then team formations. Our group gathered in the usual spot—Cassia, Kael, Lucian, and me.

  No one challenged us.

  The professor called out matchups for other teams, but our names never came up. We stood there in the tribunes, watching other students fight while we waited for our turn that never arrived.

  "Guess no one wants a piece of us today," Kael muttered.

  "Or they saw what Hagen did and don't want to bother," Lucian said quietly.

  Cassia said nothing. She stood with her arms crossed, watching the matches with an expression I couldn't read.

  The class dragged on. By the time the professor dismissed us, I felt more restless than tired. The thought of how we lost last time was eating at me. I made a dumb mistake, yet I couldn't explain the event that spurred it on.

  As we filed out, I caught up to Cassia. "Can we talk?"

  She glanced at me. "About what?"

  "The fight with Hagen."

  Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Fine."

  We split off from Kael and Lucian, walking toward the edge of the training grounds where fewer people would overhear. Cassia stopped near a low stone wall and turned to face me.

  "What do you want to talk about?" she asked.

  "Why did you shout?"

  She blinked. "What?"

  "During the fight with Hagen. You shouted. That's when I turned around, when I let go of him. I want to know why."

  Her expression shifted. Her shoulders tensed, and her eyes went cold. "So that's it. You're blaming me."

  "I'm not—"

  "You are. You're saying we lost because I distracted you. Because I couldn't handle myself."

  "That's not what I'm saying."

  "Then what are you saying, Cato?" Her voice rose slightly. "Because it sounds a lot like you're throwing this in my face."

  I held up a hand. "I'm not blaming you. I'm asking a question."

  "It's the same thing."

  "It's not. I'm trying to understand what happened. I'm the root cause of our loss regardless of anything."

  She stared at me, jaw clenched. "You lost because you got distracted. That's what happened."

  "I know. But you don't just shout like that. It's not like you."

  "Maybe I panicked. Ever think of that?"

  "You don't panic."

  "Everyone panics sometimes."

  "You don't do it like that. Not in a fight." I kept my voice level. "You just throw punches with more determination and press on without hesitation. You're the one who grins when someone challenges us. You don't shout like a girl in distress. So what actually happened?"

  She looked away, silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. "They stomped on my foot."

  I frowned. "What?"

  "One of Hagen's teammates. When they were pushing me away from the others. He stomped on my foot. Hard. It... surprised me."

  I stared at her. "You shouted because someone stepped on your foot?"

  "Not just stepped. Stomped. With aether reinforcement." She looked back at me, defensive. "It hurt for the entire week."

  I thought about it. The fight replaying in my mind. Hagen charging in, breaking our formation. His teammates isolating Cassia, pushing her away from the group. And then—

  "That was deliberate," I said slowly.

  "What?"

  "Hagen planned that. He broke our formation, his team isolated you, and then they hurt you just enough to make you react. To make you shout. Which made me turn around. Which made me let go of him."

  Cassia's eyes widened slightly. "You think he planned all of that?"

  "Yes. He's not just reckless. He's calculating. He somehow figured out that if he could make you shout, I'd turn. And if I turned, he'd slip away. It was all a setup."

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  She was quiet for a moment. "That's... actually kind of impressive."

  "It is. It's also scary. I'm not capable of that kind of forethought."

  "Yeah." She looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

  "Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. He played us both. That's on him, not you."

  She nodded slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "So what now?"

  "Now we don't let it happen again. And we don't underestimate him."

  "You think we'll fight him again?"

  "Probably. If not now, later. There's simply no way we won't get matched with him again. If not this year, then the next one." I paused. "He's a second-year, right?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "Because if he's this good now, he's going to be dangerous later. Especially if the academy gets involved in the war."

  Cassia's expression darkened. "You think that'll happen?"

  "I think it's likely. And when it does, people like Hagen—people who can think on their feet, who can disrupt and adapt—they're the ones who'll survive. Maybe even thrive."

  "That's a grim way to see things."

  "It's a realistic way to look at it. Reality never matches our expectations."

  She crossed her arms again, but this time it looked more thoughtful than defensive. "So what, we just accept that he beat us with tricks?"

  "No. We learn from it. And we make sure it doesn't work next time."

  "And in the meantime?"

  "In the meantime, we don't make an enemy of him."

  She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean Hagen's the kind of person who's better as an ally than an opponent. Or at least someone we're on neutral terms with. If we antagonize him, he'll be a pain to deal with. But if we're cordial, if we respect what he can do, maybe he'll do the same."

  "You want to be friends with the guy who just beat us?"

  "He beat us with brains. That's respectable. I mostly fought with might. In battle you can't think. He fights with a premade plan and adapts along the way. That's a strong person."

  Cassia studied me for a moment, then shook her head. "You're weird, Cato."

  "I've been told."

  She almost smiled. "Fine. We'll play nice with Hagen. But I'm not forgetting what he did."

  "I'm not asking you to forget. Just don't hold a grudge."

  "I don't hold grudges."

  "You absolutely do. Should I remind you of my first class with you?"

  "Only when people deserve it."

  I didn't argue. She probably had a point.

  The next day, I caught Hagen between classes. He was walking with a couple of his teammates, laughing about something. When he saw me approaching, he stopped, his expression shifting to something more guarded.

  "Cato," he said. "Didn't expect to see you coming over here."

  "Just wanted to talk for a minute."

  His teammates exchanged glances but didn't leave. Hagen crossed his arms, waiting.

  "That was a good fight," I said. "The way you broke our formation, isolated Cassia, made her react. It was smart."

  He blinked, clearly not expecting that. "Uh... thanks?"

  "I mean it. You read the situation, adapted, and exploited our weakness. That's not easy to do."

  He relaxed slightly, a grin starting to form. "Well, yeah. That's kind of my thing. Most people get too locked into their plans. I just do what works."

  "It shows. And it worked."

  "So what, you're here to congratulate me?" He sounded suspicious now. "No hard feelings?"

  "No hard feelings. We lost, you won, you just did what you were told to do. That's how it goes."

  "Huh." He studied me. "You're taking this better than I thought you would."

  "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Because most people get pissed when I beat them. Especially the ones who think they're hot shit."

  "I don't think I'm hot shit. I've got a lot to learn still. And you taught me something."

  That seemed to throw him off balance. He glanced at his teammates, then back at me. "Alright. You're weirder than I thought."

  "I've been told."

  He laughed. "Fair enough. So what, we're cool now?"

  "We're cool."

  "Good. Because honestly, I didn't want to deal with you holding a grudge. You've got a reputation for being... intense."

  "I have a reputation?"

  "Dude, you're the first-year who graduated four classes ahead of time, got promoted to participate in training classes above his year, and pissed off the Dean so bad he personally came to threaten you. Yeah, you have a reputation. Not to mention you're younger than any of us and in Core Formation stage."

  I hadn't realized people were talking about that. "Great."

  "Don't sound so thrilled." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Look, you're not bad in a fight. A little stiff, but not bad. If you ever want to spar outside of class, let me know. I could use someone who actually tries."

  "I'll think about it."

  "Do that." He grinned and headed off with his teammates, leaving me standing there.

  Magnar appeared at my side. "Who's the one you were talking to?"

  "Hagen, a guy who beat me in training classes."

  "He must be a good fighter then."

  "I wouldn't say that. But he's got a good head."

  He shook his head. "If he wasn't a good fighter he wouldn't have beaten you."

  "He had a good plan and adapted well to the situation. Besides, I'm not that good of a standard for comparisons, am I?"

  "I think you are." He started walking toward the next class. "Come on. We're going to be late."

  I followed, glancing back once to see Hagen disappearing around a corner. He'd be someone to watch. Someone useful, maybe, when things got worse.

  And things would get worse. The war was coming. The tournament was coming. Everything was accelerating.

  But for now, at least, I had one less problem to worry about.

  The rest of the day passed without incident. Classes, training, meditation. The routine was settling in, becoming automatic.

  By evening, I was back at the tower, working on designs for the weapon I'd been planning. Something complex that would fill in for my weaknesses, weighted properly for my size and strength.

  Magnar stopped by, as he usually did.

  "You're drawing again?" he said, leaning against the workbench.

  "It's called planning things."

  "I still don't understand what that is. It looks like a bunch of circles with lines connecting them."

  "The plans aren't ready yet. That's why."

  "Clearly." He picked up one of my sketches, studying it. "What's this supposed to be in the end?"

  "A weapon for myself. To potentially use in the tournament."

  "But this doesn't look like a sword... or a dagger or anything."

  "Yes."

  He set the sketch down. "Garrick's not going to go easy on you, you know."

  "I know. But I never heard of Torin before."

  "Torin's the instructor for aether manipulation for the fifth year. He's going to work you until you can barely stand."

  "I know."

  "Well, I just hope you don't give in."

  "I won't."

  He grinned. "Good. I want to see what else you can do at a much younger age than others."

  "I'm always trying."

  "No, you're always working. There's a difference." He pushed off the workbench. "Anyway, I'm heading out. Lyra wants to practice."

  "Tell her I said good luck."

  "I'll tell her you said to go easy on me."

  "That too."

  He left, and I went back to my sketches. Four months until the tournament. Four months to build the weapon, refine my fighting, strengthen my control.

  Four months to make sure I didn't lose again.

  I stared at the paper, at the rough lines of the weapon taking shape.

  I wouldn't lose again.