The next day, Lancet woke before the sun and before any of his three roommates. Weekend or not, his body still carried the residue of training from the day before, and the first thing he felt when he opened his eyes was the hard, restless awareness that there were only four days left before he stood across from Renan Falconhart in the one-on-one combat tournament.
Four days.
Not enough to become a different person, but maybe enough to become a better swordsman.
That was the only version of the thought that mattered now.
He pushed himself up, dressed quickly, and left the Gold Dorms while the halls were still half-asleep. The academy looked different this early in the morning. Quieter. Less like a place designed to test people and more like a fortress holding its breath.
Lancet crossed the grounds in the pale early light with the Radiant Guillotine at his side and tension building in his chest. Not fear exactly, just the sharp pressure of time.
