Morning drills resumed like the academy had not bled the day before.
Steel rang against steel. Wood cracked. Boots tore lines through sand.
Sergeant Cassie stood in the centre of the weapons yard, vines coiled lazily around her forearms like living gauntlets. A living whip rested in her grip, its shaft wrapped in braided green tendrils that pulsed faintly with her control.
"Elena," she called. "Again."
Elena drew.
Her bowstring pulled back smoothly this time — repaired, reinforced, steady. The arrow flew clean and fast, striking the wooden target dead centre.
Cassie didn't nod.
"Again."
Scarlett rolled her shoulders beside her, daggers spinning idly between her fingers.
"You're in a mood," Scarlett muttered.
Cassie heard it.
"That is nothing to concern you're self with," she replied calmly. "Know focus and your aim will tighten."
Elena didn't respond.
She drew again.
The arrow struck slightly off-centre.
Cassie's eyes narrowed.
"There it is."
Scarlett flicked a dagger into her own target. It embedded crooked.
Cassie turned to her. "You aswell."
Scarlett smirked. "What, my aim is flawless."
"Your shoulders are tight," Cassie said. "Which means you're thinking about something else."
Scarlett spun another dagger lazily. "Or I'm just bored."
Cassie moved in a blur.
Her vine-wrapped whip hooked Scarlett's wrist mid-spin and twisted, forcing her to drop the blade.
Scarlett blinked.
Cassie leaned close.
"You don't get bored in combat," she said softly. "You get dead."
Scarlett's jaw tightened.
"Yes, Sergeant."
Cassie stepped back.
"Elena."
Elena loosed another arrow.
Bullseye.
This time Cassie nodded.
"Better."
Scarlett bent to retrieve her dagger. "So we're just pretending nothing's happening then?"
Cassie met her eyes.
"We are training."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
A pause.
Cassie's voice lowered just enough so only they could hear.
"You think anger makes you sharper."
Scarlett held her gaze.
"It makes you loud."
Elena looked between them.
Cassie's vines shifted slightly along her arms.
"Control," she said simply. "Both of you."
Across the academy, Max walked toward the administrative wing alone.
He had healed faster than expected. His ribs still ached, but his telekinesis had stabilized.
That was enough.
He didn't knock.
He stepped into Major Grant Burton's office without invitation.
Grant did not look up immediately.
He finished signing a document first.
Then he raised his eyes.
"Max."
Max didn't salute.
"Sir."
Grant observed him calmly. "You look recovered."
"Mostly."
Silence stretched.
Grant leaned back slightly in his chair.
"To what do I owe this interruption?"
Max's jaw tightened.
"What happened to Finn."
Grant's expression did not shift.
"He slipped, I heard."
"That's not what happened."
"Careful," Grant said mildly.
Max stepped closer to the desk.
"Billy did it."
Grant folded his hands.
"That is an accusation."
"It's the truth."
Grant tilted his head slightly.
"And your evidence?"
Max didn't answer.
Because he did not have any.
Grant rose slowly from behind the desk.
He was not physically imposing — but authority radiated from him like gravity.
"You challenged one of my cadets publicly," Grant said. "You embarrassed him."
Max didn't flinch.
"And?"
"And now you are surprised tensions escalate?"
Max's fists clenched.
"He dislocated his arm and stabbed him."
Grant's eyes sharpened slightly at that.
"Allegedly."
Max felt his temper flare — telekinesis buzzing faintly in the air around him.
Grant noticed.
"Control yourself Boy!."
Max forced the pressure down.
"If you have proof," Grant continued calmly, "bring it to Sergeant Smith. Until then, you will not walk into my office and make baseless claims."
Max held his gaze.
"You think I don't know you're trying to break us?"
Grant's expression hardened just slightly.
"I think," he said quietly, "that you are young. Emotional. And far too convinced you understand the larger picture."
Max leaned forward.
"Maybe I don't."
Grant stepped closer.
"But you will."
Silence.
Heavy.
Grant's voice dropped.
"If you cannot handle the pressure, you do not belong here."
Max did not move.
"Is that all, sir?" he asked evenly.
Grant studied him.
"Yes."
Max turned and left.
Grant watched him go.
Then slowly closed the office door.
In the infirmary, Finn lay on his back staring at his own hand.
He wiggled his fingers.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's try this then."
He focused.
He let the vibration build.
It started small — a faint tremor in his palm.
Then faster.
Faster.
His fingers blurred slightly.
The air around them shimmered.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay okay okay—"
He pressed his vibrating hand toward the wooden bedside table.
The surface resisted.
He pushed harder.
His hand slid through.
Finn's eyes widened.
"No way."
He pulled it back out instantly.
It worked.
He stared at his hand like it had just told him a secret.
"Right," he muttered, excitement bubbling up. "That's new."
He tried again.
This time with the metal railing beside the bed.
Vibrate.
Faster.
Faster.
His hand slipped through the metal bar halfway—
And stopped.
"Uh."
He tried to pull back.
It did not move.
The vibration stuttered.
"Oh shit."
He tried again.
Nothing.
His hand was stuck.
Half-phased.
Half-solid.
Embedded in the railing.
"…No."
He tugged.
Pain shot through his wrist.
"Oh you have got to be kidding me."
He tried increasing the vibration again.
Instead, it intensified awkwardly.
The metal bit into his palm.
He hissed.
"This is not ideal."
He looked around wildly.
No one in sight.
"Okay. Calm down. Think."
He tried slowing the vibration gradually.
Nothing.
He tried speeding it up.
The metal hummed.
His hand remained stubbornly lodged.
"…I'm going to have to explain this," he muttered miserably.
Footsteps approached.
He panicked.
He yanked hard.
The vibration collapsed completely.
His hand snapped fully solid.
Still inside the railing.
The metal pierced clean through the side of his palm.
Finn screamed.
The healer burst into the room.
"What in the name of—"
Finn stared at his impaled hand.
"…I may have miscalculated." he grinned with a wince.
Back in the yard, Elena loosed another arrow.
Bullseye.
Scarlett's dagger followed.
Dead centre.
Cassie allowed herself a small nod.
"Better."
Elena lowered her bow.
"You think this ends in a duel?" she asked quietly.
Cassie looked at her.
"No."
Scarlett wiped sweat from her brow.
"It ends with someone dead."
Cassie did not correct her.
She simply said:
"Then make sure it isn't you."