Arthur had discovered that there were two kinds of mornings at Gallows Edge Academy.
The first began with Julian Hawke hitting him with a wooden sword.
The second began with someone asking him for a favor.
The second was considerably more dangerous.
“Absolutely not.”
Mira stared at him.
“You didn’t even hear the request.”
“I heard enough.”
“You’re becoming predictable.”
“I’m becoming efficient.”
They stood outside the Scholarship Administration Office, where a line of cadets stretched almost to the stairwell.
Mira held a folder against her chest.
“We need access to Pell’s old scholarship records.”
Arthur looked at the queue.
“Then we wait.”
“The clerk told me yesterday that the records are restricted.”
“Then we ask why.”
“I already asked.”
“And?”
“He told me no.”
Arthur nodded.
“Excellent. We have established his position.”
Mira sighed.
“Do you ever stop treating people like negotiations?”
Arthur considered the question.
“No.”
She gave him a flat look.
“I appreciate the honesty.”
They joined the line.
Five minutes later, Arthur realized something.
He was terrible at waiting.
Not because he lacked patience.
Because he could usually find a more efficient route.
Unfortunately, Gallows Edge had rules designed specifically to make efficient routes illegal.
At least, that was his current theory.
A clerk called the next name.
A student stepped forward.
A minute later, he returned with a rejected form.
Then another.
Then another.
Mira watched the process.
“Notice anything?”
“Yes.”
Arthur pointed toward the desk.
“The clerk is rejecting forms before reading the attached justification.”
Mira blinked.
“You’re right.”
“He isn’t deciding whether the requests qualify.”
“Then what is he doing?”
“Filtering them.”
She studied the desk.
A small metal plaque rested beside the clerk.
PRIORITY ACCESS: FACULTY / NOBILITY / EMERGENCY
Mira frowned.
“So students from lower districts are always at the bottom.”
“Apparently.”
She crossed her arms.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve worked with organizations where unfairness was more elegantly disguised.”
Mira almost smiled.
“Can you get us through?”
Arthur looked at the plaque.
“No.”
Her expression fell.
“I can, however, find out what we’re doing wrong.”
“That sounds less useful.”
“It usually is.”
When their turn came, the clerk didn’t look up.
“Request.”
Mira placed the form on the desk.
“Scholarship records concerning Archivist Pell.”
The clerk’s eyes finally lifted.
“No.”
Arthur leaned slightly forward.
“You haven’t read it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Interesting.”
The clerk frowned.
Arthur pointed toward the plaque.
“Priority access is granted to faculty, nobility, and emergency requests. We’re neither faculty nor emergency personnel.”
Mira glanced at him.
Arthur continued.
“But the regulation doesn’t state that student requests are prohibited. It states that they require faculty sponsorship.”
The clerk hesitated.
Mira’s eyes widened.
Arthur had already noticed the hesitation yesterday.
He continued.
“Which means our request isn’t invalid.”
The clerk looked at the form again.
“It lacks sponsorship.”
“Correct.”
“Then it’s denied.”
Arthur nodded.
“Fair enough.”
Mira looked ready to protest.
Arthur stopped her with a slight movement of his hand.
“May I ask one question?”
The clerk sighed.
“What?”
“Who is authorized to sponsor archival research involving scholarship records?”
The clerk answered automatically.
“Department heads, designated faculty, or the scholarship administrator.”
Arthur smiled politely.
“Thank you.”
He took the form back.
Mira followed him outside.
“You knew we couldn’t get the records.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did we come?”
“To learn who could give us access.”
“You could have asked that yesterday.”
“Yes.”
Mira stared at him.
Arthur shrugged.
“I’m still improving.”
She shook her head.
“Sometimes I genuinely don’t know whether you’re clever or just annoying.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Their next stop was the faculty corridor.
That proved worse.
Most instructors were occupied with classes.
The first one they approached refused immediately.
The second asked what Pell had done.
The third advised Mira to forget the matter.
The fourth didn’t answer at all.
By noon, they had nothing.
Except one name.
Instructor Voss.
Mira stopped outside her office.
“You ask.”
Arthur looked at the door.
“Why?”
“She already knows about the West Tower.”
“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t ask.”
“Why?”
“Because she knows more than she tells us.”
Mira crossed her arms.
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“So people who know more than they tell you rarely appreciate being reminded of it.”
“Then I’ll ask.”
Arthur looked at her.
She knocked.
The door opened.
Instructor Seraphine Voss regarded both of them.
Her gaze moved to the folder in Mira’s hand.
Then to Arthur.
“No.”
Mira hadn’t said anything yet.
Arthur almost laughed.
Mira didn’t.
“We need sponsorship for archival research.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard the subject.”
“I know the subject.”
Silence.
Arthur’s amusement disappeared.
Voss stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Her office was exactly as Arthur remembered.
Sparse.
Organized.
No personal decorations.
A single sword rested against the wall.
Mira placed the request on the desk.
“Pell’s scholarship records.”
Voss read it.
“You shouldn’t be investigating this.”
Mira’s expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know what you’re looking for.”
“Then tell me.”
Voss looked at her for several seconds.
“No.”
Mira’s fingers tightened around the folder.
Arthur intervened.
“Then perhaps we can ask a narrower question.”
Voss looked at him.
“What?”
“Was Pell removed because of the West Tower incident?”
Voss didn’t answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
Mira noticed too.
“You know.”
“I know that his resignation wasn’t as simple as the academy record suggests.”
“Then why hide it?”
Voss’s expression changed.
Not anger.
Something closer to exhaustion.
“Because not every truth becomes safer when more people know it.”
Arthur leaned against the chair.
“That sounds convenient.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then give us something useful.”
Voss studied him.
“You’ve changed.”
Arthur remained silent.
She continued.
“Three months ago, you would have demanded the records.”
“And now?”
“Now you’re asking.”
Arthur glanced at Mira.
That observation bothered him more than it should have.
Voss took a blank sponsorship form from a drawer.
She signed it.
Mira looked surprised.
“You’ll sponsor us?”
“For scholarship records only.”
She handed the paper over.
“Nothing concerning the lower archive.”
Mira accepted it.
“Why?”
Voss looked directly at Arthur.
“Because if you insist on walking toward something dangerous, I’d rather you do it through a door I can see.”
Arthur understood the warning.
He also understood the favor.
Voss had given them access.
But she had not given them trust.
Those were different currencies.
Arthur respected that.
“Thank you.”
Voss nodded.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
The records were disappointing.
That was the first thing Arthur thought after two hours of reading.
There were no secret orders.
No hidden names.
No forbidden symbols.
Just numbers.
Scholarship allocations.
Meal credits.
Training grants.
Equipment requests.
Housing adjustments.
Pell had signed hundreds of documents.
Mira sat opposite him, reading faster.
“Look at this.”
Arthur moved closer.
Three months before Pell resigned, the scholarship budget for lower-district students had been reduced by eleven percent.
Two weeks later, it was restored.
One week after that, Pell requested additional funding.
Denied.
Then came another request.
Denied.
A third.
Approved.
Arthur frowned.
“Who approved this one?”
Mira pointed to the signature.
“Master Corvin.”
Arthur leaned back.
“That again.”
They kept reading.
There were patterns.
Not dramatic ones.
Small inconsistencies.
A training allocation moved from one student to another.
Equipment requests delayed without explanation.
Several students from lower districts had been reassigned to less favorable training schedules.
Nothing individually serious.
Together, it looked deliberate.
Mira’s expression slowly changed.
“This isn’t about Pell.”
Arthur nodded.
“Not entirely.”
“Then what is it?”
Arthur looked at the columns.
“Control.”
Mira waited.
“Someone has been moving resources without leaving obvious traces. Not enough to cause an investigation. Just enough to influence who gets opportunities.”
“So Pell noticed.”
“Possibly.”
“And Corvin?”
“Possibly.”
Mira frowned.
“You’re doing it again.”
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“Turning uncertainty into probabilities.”
“It’s useful.”
“Sometimes.”
She tapped the page.
“What’s the next step?”
Arthur looked at her.
This time, he didn’t answer immediately.
Then he pushed the papers toward her.
“You found this.”
Mira blinked.
“So?”
“So you decide.”
She stared at him.
“You’re letting me decide?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Arthur looked down at the records.
“Because this is your investigation.”
A small silence followed.
Mira smiled.
Not warmly.
Not quite.
But genuinely.
“Then we follow the money.”
Arthur nodded.
“That would be my recommendation.”
The afternoon brought a different problem.
Julian.
More specifically, Julian’s training.
Arthur arrived late by four minutes.
Julian was already waiting.
“You’re late.”
“I was researching academy finances.”
“You’re training.”
“Both can be true.”
Julian tossed him a wooden sword.
“Show me what you learned.”
Arthur caught it.
The session began.
It was worse than yesterday.
Julian changed the rhythm.
No predictable attacks.
No repeated patterns.
Arthur’s careful observation became almost useless because Julian deliberately broke his own habits.
Arthur blocked one strike.
Dodged another.
Then hesitated.
That was enough.
The wooden sword struck his stomach.
He doubled over.
Julian waited.
Arthur straightened.
“Again.”
Another exchange.
Another mistake.
This time Arthur saw the opening correctly.
He attacked.
Julian twisted.
Arthur’s blade passed harmlessly beside him.
Julian’s wooden sword struck Arthur’s wrist.
The practice weapon fell.
Arthur stared at it.
Julian said nothing.
Arthur picked it up.
Again.
The same mistake happened twice.
On the third attempt, Arthur changed his approach.
He stopped trying to predict Julian.
Instead, he watched his own balance.
The next attack came.
Arthur stepped.
Not perfectly.
But correctly.
Julian’s sword grazed his shoulder.
Arthur remained standing.
Julian smiled.
“There.”
Arthur breathed heavily.
“That was barely anything.”
“Exactly.”
Julian lowered his sword.
“You keep waiting for a perfect answer.”
Arthur looked at him.
“Perfect answers are useful.”
“They don’t exist in fights.”
Arthur almost disagreed.
Then stopped.
Because the floor, the bruises, and the previous two days had already made the argument for him.
Julian tossed him the sword again.
“Tomorrow, we do it without thinking.”
Arthur caught it.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
That night, Arthur returned to his room.
His body hurt.
His ranking had improved by eight places.
His combat score had improved by three points.
Mira had discovered a possible resource-manipulation scheme.
And Voss had given them limited access to information she clearly didn’t want them to have.
None of it felt like victory.
But it was movement.
Arthur opened his notebook.
The previous entries stared back at him.
11.
I need other people’s strengths.
12.
I don’t have to understand everything before I act.
13.
Strength cannot be negotiated.
14.
That does not mean I have to fight alone.
He added another line.
15.
Information is only useful if I know who can use it.
Arthur closed the notebook.
Outside, the academy bells began their evening sequence.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
This time, the fourth bell rang.
Arthur looked toward the window.
Nothing happened.
He smiled faintly.
For once, he was grateful for an ordinary evening.
Then someone slid a paper beneath his door.
Arthur stared at it.
No footsteps followed.
He picked it up.
There was only one sentence.
YOU ARE ASKING THE WRONG QUESTION ABOUT PELL.
Arthur read it twice.
His expression didn’t change.
But the notebook remained closed.
For the first time, he didn’t immediately write down a theory.
Instead, he folded the message and placed it beside Mira’s documents.
Tomorrow, he would show her.
Because apparently, learning not to work alone had begun faster than expected.