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W ait, what is this? Owen’s hand instinctively dropped to his sword only to find it wasn’t there. Then his eyes noticed the difference in his hands as they patted down his lean, younger frame. Why am I fifteen again?

The searing Fendwyrian sun bore down on the parade ground, its heat baking the cobblestones and intensifying the sting of sweat trickling down his back. The division commander’s barked orders sliced through the air, unforgiving. Owen stood in a rigid lineup with the other recruits, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched behind his back.

The cadets beside him belonged to noble houses—scions of powerful families with generations of Royal Navy officers in their lineage. He, on the other hand, was there by force, not legacy. The third arrest had been the final straw.

Owen had already been expelled from three schools in Whimsridge, and after his last brush with the city guard, the only thing keeping him from a cell was the academy’s offer of discipline and reform. He hadn’t exactly been given a choice.

He quickly learned his peers could sniff out an outsider. They made his life hell for it. His bedding vanished from the barracks more times than he could count. After too many meals were tampered with, he stopped eating anything he hadn’t prepared himself. His boots were filled with mud, his uniform soaked with ink. His assignments disappeared before they could be turned in. So Owen adapted. He kept his head down. He stayed quiet. And he became damn good at enduring.

Saturday was the only day the academy allowed a sliver of freedom—for the cadets who had earned it. Only those with the highest marks and best behavior records were granted leave to go into the city. The division commander barked out the names of the cadets on the approved list. He released a grateful sigh when his name was called. As soon as they were dismissed, he all but sprinted away from campus and jumped on the cart transporting cadets to the city’s center.

His first stop was always the Library of Metis. It was the one place no one bothered him. He could read, nap, or simply exist without anyone trying to beat him down. The moment he stepped inside, the cool hush of the library wrapped around him, offering shelter from the unyielding heat.

He slowly paced the shelves, allowing his fingers to brush over the worn, leather spines of hundreds of books. Owen found several titles he was interested in, his arms growing heavy. He selected a table near the windows overlooking the Phythean Sea where he could listen to the distant rhythm of crashing waves. He placed a neatly stacked pile of books on the table—volumes on military strategy, Royal Navy history, etiquette, and proper conduct. If his classmates saw him as unworthy, he would give them no reason to doubt him. He would be stronger, smarter, better. He would be flawless. Because, unlike them, Owen Thorne had something to prove.

His parents had never considered him worth much, but that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with their own shortcomings. His father, Obadiah Thorne, spent more time on fishing boats than at home—and even when he was home, he wasn’t truly there. He haunted taverns, spent nights in beds that didn’t belong to his wife, and came home when there was nothing left to drink. When he drank, he hit. Owen learned to stay standing, a trait his combat instructors valued, even though they never knew the deeper reason he’d been able to hone that skill.

His mother, Leticia, spent most of his childhood floating somewhere between grief and opium. His older sister, Sonya, had fled the kingdom years ago, severing all ties with their family. Owen hadn’t blamed her. He would have left, too, if he had anywhere to go.

Instead, he became the ringleader of Whimsridge’s most reckless, lawless pack of misfits. Shoplifting. Vandalism. Arson. If there was trouble, he was at its center. At the academy, there were no shadows to slip into, no friends to outrun the law with. It was just him. And he would survive this, too.

He thumbed through a chapter on proper table manners when a rumbling sounded like a warning, followed by a sudden metallic clang shattering the quiet. A ladder slammed into its stopper, displacing a handful of books. Owen looked up just as a blur of copper hair and pink ruffles nearly crashed onto his table.

"Oh, sorry!" the girl blurted, scrambling to gather the fallen books. Her voice was light, but her movements were quick and practiced.

Owen arched an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed. “What exactly are you doing?”

She exhaled a laugh, pushing loose strands of red hair from her face. “The ladder wheels were greased yesterday. I was testing how well they work.”

He smirked. “So, you’re the official library ladder tester?”

The girl straightened, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you care? You don’t work here.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “And how would you know?”

“Because,” she huffed, “my parents run this library.”

Owen grinned. “So I should report your... testing to them?”

Her expression darkened, calculating. “At ease, academy boy,” she said, tilting her chin. “Alright. What’ll it take for you to forget this ever happened?”

“Your name,” he offered without hesitation.

She scoffed, already shaking her head. “Hah, not a chance. How about a pastry?”

Owen’s stomach growled at the mere suggestion. His rations at the academy were barely edible, and he’d skipped lunch out of habit.

He pretended to consider it. “You drive a hard bargain.”

With a dramatic flourish, she pulled a handkerchief from a deep pocket, hidden by the absurd amount of ruffles on her dress. “Here,” she said, extending a flaky, buttery pastry toward him. “For your silence.”

He accepted it but leaned back in his chair, inspecting her with a smirk. “The agreement was for me to forget,” he mused, tearing off a bite. “Silence is going to cost you extra.”

She huffed in exasperation before grabbing another pastry from her pocket and launching it at his chest.

“There! Now we’re even,” she declared before darting down the row of bookshelves, skirts billowing behind her.

Owen watched her go, chewing thoughtfully. He’d come here for solitude. But now, he hoped she’d crash into his quiet again.