Chapter 4 NAVY

Behind me, Thaddeus mouths two words slowly: Don't panic.

Which is rich, coming from the reason I'm in this mess.

"No," I say to the phone, my voice steadier than I have any right to. "Absolutely not.”

"Just until we can assess—"

"There's nothing to assess, Daddy. I'm fine. It was a device malfunction, Professor Shaw logged it himself." I'm pacing again, four steps to the wall, four steps back. "I just got here. I haven't even been to a real class yet."

"Navy—"

"I need to be here." My voice drops. "Please. Just — trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Another silence.

My mother is the one who breaks it, which means she's already decided. She decides first and my father catches up. That's always how it works. "One phone call," she says quietly. "If anything else happens, one phone call and you come home immediately. No arguments."

"Yes."

"Navy."

"Yes, Mommy. I promise."

My father says goodnight. My mother stays on the line for three extra seconds the way she does when she wants to say something else and decides against it.

Then she's gone.

I lower the phone.

The room is very quiet except for the sound of Thaddeus rummaging through my luggage with absolutely zero shame, tossing things over his shoulder onto the floor.

"Thad."

"You have four cardigans and zero snacks," he announces, surfacing with my electric kettle in one hand and two packs of cup noodles in the other. His purple eyes are bright with victory. "We're having a conversation about your priorities."

"Those are emergency noodles."

"This is an emergency." He stands to his full height, hits his head on the hanging bulb, and ignores it with perfect dignity. "Where's the nearest socket?"

I point. He plugs it in, peels back both noodle lids with the focused energy of someone performing surgery, and sets them on my desk like he's done this a hundred times.

He has. Just usually in hell.

I sit back down on the floor. Pull my knees up.

"She's scared," I say.

"I know."

"She's always scared of it." I turn my phone over in my hands. "Even when she says she's not. Even when she says she accepts it."

Thaddeus doesn't say anything. He just fills the kettle from the bathroom tap and comes back and sits cross-legged on the floor beside me, which for a six foot five arch demon is a geometrically impressive choice.

"She loves you," he says simply.

"I know." I lean my head back against the bed. "That's why it's worse."

The kettle starts to rumble.

We sit in companionable silence for a moment — the specific kind that only exists between people who have known each other long enough that quiet isn't awkward.

"The project partner," Thaddeus says.

"No."

"Navy—"

"I said no."

"You went pink again—"

My phone buzzes.

I look at it.

Nate 🐺

Something in my chest loosens immediately — the specific relief of an older brother calling at the exact right moment without knowing it's the exact right moment. I answer before the second buzz.

"Hey—"

"There she is." Nathan's voice is warm and familiar and I feel seventeen years of home in it immediately. "How's my genius little sister doing?"

"Don't."

"That bad?"

"A device screamed at me in front of sixty people and now I have a project partner who looks at me like I personally ruined his year."

Nathan laughs — not unkindly. "First day stuff."

"Second day."

"Even better." I can hear him settling back in his chair, the familiar creak of it. He's probably at his desk. He's always at his desk. "Shaw called Dad."

"I know."

"They were worried."

"I handled it."

"I know you did." He says it with the easy certainty of someone who has never once doubted me, which is the thing about Nathan — he's always been the sibling who believed first and asked questions later. "How's your room?"

"Grey."

"How grey?"

"Prison cell grey."

He laughs again. "You'll fix it."

"Tomorrow," I agree.

The kettle clicks off. Thaddeus rises elegantly and pours water into both cups with the ceremony of someone who takes noodles very seriously. He sets mine on the floor beside me without being asked.

I mouth thank you. He waves it off.

"Nate," I say. "I'm okay. Really. You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to." A beat. "I wanted to hear your voice."

I close my eyes for a second.

"I'm okay," I say again, softer this time.

"Good." Another pause — different in texture. The pause of someone changing gears. "So listen. I know the timing is terrible—"

I open my eyes. "Nathan."

"And I know you just got there—"

"Nathan."

"—and I know today was already a lot—"

"Nathan."

He stops.

"What," I say flatly, "do you want?"

A breath. "I need a favour."

Beside me, Thaddeus looks up from his noodles with sudden interest. I hold up one finger.

He holds up both hands innocently and goes back to eating.

"What kind of favour?”

"The academy kind."

I wait.

"There's someone enrolled at Aurelian this year," Nathan says, and his voice shifts to his work voice. The one he uses when he's not just my brother anymore but the person who works three floors underground in a building whose address isn't listed anywhere. And the edge in it tells me he's been sitting with what he wants to say long enough that it's changed shape inside him.

Whatever this is, he's been carrying it for a while.

"It's someone extremely important."

"Nathan—"

"I need someone on the inside." He says it quickly, like he's been rehearsing how to say it and decided fast was better than gentle. "Someone I trust. Someone already enrolled who won't draw attention." A beat. "Someone who can watch out for them without anyone knowing that's what they're doing."

The room is very quiet. Even Thaddeus has stopped eating.

"You want me," I ask slowly, "to be a secret bodyguard?”

"I want you to keep an eye on someone," Nathan says. "That's all. You're already there. You're already brilliant. You just—"

"Nathan." I press two fingers to the bridge of my nose. "I had a device scream at me today. In front of everyone. I am the least invisible person in that building right now."

"That'll die down."

"Today was today—"

"Navy." His voice is quiet now. Serious in the way that means this matters more than he's letting on. "I wouldn't ask if I had another option. Please.”

Silence.

I look at Thaddeus. He looks back at me with those purple eyes and the expression of someone who is extremely invested in what happens next and extremely committed to pretending he isn't listening.

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Who's the mission?”