The heavy oak door of the Headmaster’s office felt like it was ten feet thick. Inside, the air smelled of floor wax and disappointment.

  "It was a calculated risk," Grace whispered, leaning back in the hard wooden chair. She looked perfectly relaxed, despite the fact that they were currently awaiting a formal reprimand for being caught in the rafters of the gymnasium during the Senior Duel-Trials.

  "The calculation was wrong," Caleb hissed back, his face buried in his hands. He was slumped forward, his knuckles white. "We’re in the office, Grace. On a Tuesday. My parents are going to hear about this”. "You're responsible for my food and drinks now."

  "Relax, caleb. I'll tell them I dragged you there." Grace caught a movement through the frosted glass of the door. Her eyes went wide. "Oh no. Hide me."

  "What?"

  "Mable! She’s coming!" Grace suddenly scrambled, trying to slide under the oversized desk or disappear behind Caleb’s shoulder. She pulled her collar up over her nose, looking less like a cool leader and more like a cat trying to hide behind a blade of grass.

  The door creaked open. Mable walked in, holding a stack of neatly organized attendance sheets for her homeroom teacher. she froze, her blue eyes darting from the Headmaster’s empty chair to the two figures huddled in the corner.

  She didn't say a word. She just sighed—a long, weary sound that made Grace flinch more than a shout would have.

  "I'm not here," Grace muffled through her jacket.

  "You're supposed to be in Advanced Trig, Ace," Mable said, her voice impossibly calm as she set the papers on the desk. She looked at Caleb, who was looking at the floor as if he could melt into it. "And you were supposed to help me with the Luma-filters at lunch, Caleb."

  "She promised there would be snacks!" Caleb blurted out, pointing a finger at the huddled mass that was Grace.

  Mable just shook her head, a tiny, amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself. "Ten minutes. If you’re not out by then, I'm telling Aunt Elara you ‘borrowed’ her iron bow again."

  She turned and walked out, the door clicking shut with terrifying finality. Grace finally emerged, letting out a breath. "That was close. She has that 'disappointed mom' look down to a science."

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  "It was a Grav-Ball match! The Semi-Finals!" Grace argued twenty minutes later as they trudged across the courtyard. They had escaped with a 'final warning,' mostly because the Headmaster was too tired to argue with Grace’s logic about 'studying projectile physics' in the rafters.

  Mable was walking two paces ahead, her pace brisk. "You dragged him into the ceiling, Ace. He’s afraid of heights!"

  "I'm not afraid," Caleb corrected weakly, walking beside Mable. "I just prefer the ground.”

  "It was cool though, right?" Grace nudged Caleb’s shoulder, a playful glint in her eyes. "The way the striker pulled that 360-spin?"

  Caleb looked at Mable’s stern profile, then back at Grace’s infectious, unrepentant grin. He sighed, defeated. "Yeah. It was pretty cool. Right until the janitor saw my boots hanging over the ledge."

  Mable stopped and turned around. She looked at the two of them—Grace covered in dust from the rafters and Caleb looking like he’d aged five years in one afternoon. She reached out and brushed a cobweb off Grace’s shoulder, her expression softening.

  "You're both idiots," she decided. "But if you're going to be reckless, at least bring me a radio so I can listen to the score while I'm actually in class."

  Grace beamed, throwing an arm around Mable’s neck. "See? I knew she’d come around."

  The Night Market was a riot of blue and violet lights, the snow falling in soft, fat flakes that glowed as they drifted through the Luma-beams. The smell of frying dough and hot spiced wine filled the air.

  Grace was in her element, darting between stalls, her hands moving as fast as her mouth. She was currently eyeing a high-pressure steam-canister that a merchant was trying to sell as "antique."

  "It's not an antique, it's a pipe-bomb with a coat of paint," Grace told the merchant, her voice loud and full of her usual effortless charm.

  As she leaned precariously over the counter to inspect the valves, Mable reached out, snagging the back of Grace’s coat and pulling her back an inch so she wouldn't slip on the ice. It was a practiced move—

  Caleb, meanwhile, had taken up a position on Grace’s other side. When a group of rowdy miners pushed through the crowd, Caleb instinctively stepped forward, his shoulders squaring. He wasn't as big as them, but he stood his ground, creating a pocket of space so Mable and Grace wouldn't get jostled.

  "Watch it," Caleb muttered to a man who drifted too close to Mable.

  Grace noticed. She looked at Caleb, then at Mable, who was busy adjusting Grace’s scarf to keep the cold out. A feeling of immense, quiet satisfaction settled in Grace’s chest. She had her anchor, and now, she had a shield.

  "Hey, Caleb," Grace said, grabbing a bag of hot sugared nuts from a vendor and tossing one at Caleb’s face. He caught it with a surprised laugh. "Stop looking so serious." Caleb gave her a look of, What?

  They walked through the market, three silhouettes against the blue-lit snow. Grace led the way, laughing at a joke Caleb made, while Mable walked in the middle, holding Grace’s hand. For that one night, the cold didn't matter, the school didn't matter, and the future felt like something they could handle—as long as they didn't have to do it alone.