Wren came for her at six the next morning, before the compound had fully decided to wake up, when the corridors still smelled of last night's fire and the stone floors held the particular cold that accumulated overnight like water in a low place. She knocked once. Didn't wait for an answer.
Seraphina was already dressed.
Something moved across Wren's face — not approval, something smaller, a recalibration. She looked at the training clothes, the wrapped hands, the boots already laced, and turned without a word and walked back down the corridor. Seraphina followed. That seemed to be how things worked here. Nobody explained. You either kept pace or you didn't.
The training yard was at the compound's eastern edge, separated from the main building by a covered walkway that smelled of sawdus
