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Mina watched him for a moment, then sighed. “You know, just because you can keep doing this doesn’t mean you should. At some point, you have to sleep.”

Aiden reached for a bolt of linen waiting to be cut. “The beds in the on-call tent really aren’t that bad.”

Mina rolled her eyes. Then sighed, shaking her head as if he were a lost cause. Grabbing a nearby stool, she sat across from him.

“Fine. If you insist on playing the martyr, at least let me suffer with you.”

Aiden huffed a quiet laugh. “Suit yourself,” he said, cutting the first strip of linen and handing it off to be rolled.

“Why do you do it?” she asked. “You work so much harder than everyone else. For humans, no less.” He gave her a pointed look. “Nothing against them, but you have to admit—it’s a losing battle.”

He slid a blade through the fabric. “My mother is a human.”

Her mouth pulled into a sheepish almost-smile. “Oh, I… I’m sorry.”

Aiden shook his head. He was used to that look when other Highborn found out. A flicker of surprise, then pity. “Did you know that the spells used to turn humans into Feseraa—they extend life, but not health. My mother, she still gets sick, still gets injured. Takes her longer to heal, too. Magic bought her time, but it didn’t change what she is.”

The blade sliced through the fabric with a sharpsnip.“Growing up, the healers treated her differently too. There was always this unspoken question—why bother? Humans were sick so often. What was one more fever? One more scream inthe night? They’d come out if it was easy, if making the trip wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. Anything else?” His jaw tightened. “The miscarriages. The nights she nearly bled out. Anything that didn’t fit into their schedule—that was me.”

He measured each strip with his fingers before slicing cleanly, the rhythm unbroken. “I decided a long time ago not to leave it up to chance—the value someone else might place on a life. So, I became a healer. Even though I hate blood. And that’s why I work so much—because these people need someone to see them as more than just a lost cause.”

Mina rubbed her thumb over the fabric’s rough edge, thinking. She said after a moment, “Wow. And here I was thinking you just liked hoarding shifts to make the rest of us look lazy.”

Aiden laughed. She flicked him with the bandage.

“Seriously, now I feel bad.”

“Good.”

That got him another swat.

She let the rolled linen drop onto the pile, considering him for a moment. Then, as if deciding something, she said, “I’m going to make it up to you.”

“You really don’t—”

“No, I won’t hear it. Come by my tent later. I’ll make you some of my special tea.”

He huffed a laugh. “Should I be worried? Because special could mean an exotic herb… or a one-way trip to unconsciousness.”

Mina flashed him a sly grin. “Promise to get some sleep, and it’ll only be the first.”

He chuckled again. Then glanced at her. His smirk faded into something quieter. “Sure, why not. I’ll be there.”

As he handed her another strip of linen, their fingers brushed—warm, barely a touch, but enough to send a faint buzz up his arm.

Mina rolled another bandage, hiding her smile. “Good.”

It was late when Skye finally dragged himself to bed. How late was hard to tell—there would be no sunrise to mark the dawn. But it had to be close to it. He’d lost count of how many hours Ivain had spent poking and prodding him, trying to figure out the extent of what had been done.

There were 32 foreign substances in his blood. His organs—particularly his heart, liver, and kidneys—had been magically reinforced to process the new weight of raw materials swimming through him. His blood vessels showed signs of arcane etching. His bone marrow density had been altered. The sympathetic pathways around his spine were deliberately rerouted to accommodate the aether core fused into it.

That’s where they’d focused—on the aether core, the most immediate threat to his life. He had it under control now. Mostly. Tonight had depleted it, but it was already refilling. He could feel it. A small, restless knot buzzed between his shoulder blades.

His feet might as well have been made of stone. Somehow, he dragged them up the final stair and onto the fifth floor. He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. It would be… a while before Ivain let him live this down.Hey, remember that time I found you flipping out in the toilet because you thought the “madness was taking over.”He’d be telling the story for years.

Trying to be quiet, Skye trudged down the hall to his room, where he dropped a bag filled with crystals, books, scrolls, and everything else he would need for his first homework assignment. Indeed, now that the options were learn or die,Ivain was wasting no time. Skye had an entirely new training regimen that was to take effect immediately.

He loosened his tie with a sharp tug, peeling away the layers one by one. First, his tailcoat, which felt more like a prison as he struggled to shrug it off, then his vest, leaving each over-tailored garment where it fell on the floor.