Raven found them in the Student Council office—Riyan reviewing expedition logistics, Livia organizing supply manifests with meticulous care that looked *wrong* because it was too *proper*, too *responsible*.
"Yan," Raven said. Her voice came out flat. Deadpan. The nickname felt like dragging something real out of the golden fog. "We need to talk. Now."
Riyan looked up. His dark eyes held that warm, attentive quality—Shift B, the Empath. Except it wasn't *detached* compassion. It was just... *compassion*. Genuine. Uncalculated.
Wrong.
"Ven," he said softly. "What's wrong? You look distressed."
*Distressed.* Not "tactical concern." Not "threat assessment." *Distressed.* Like he was a fucking guidance counselor.
"Library," Raven said. "Third floor. Northeast corner. Five minutes. Both of you."
Livia stood, already reaching for her bag. "Of course. Should I bring—"
"Peppermint gum," Raven interrupted. "Do you have any?"
