Chapter 28: A Knock After Midnight

Chapter 28: A Knock After Midnight

By evening, Silas had finished everything he’d meant to do that day.

It took him a little while to accept that. He checked the next morning’s schedule, remembered he’d already checked it, and closed the terminal before he could start finding things to add.

The room was tidy enough. His four steel pieces were cleaned and wrapped in the cabinet, the work mat rolled beside them. He had put the practice box away after a short session that morning. Boundary Ward was still his, with no timer beside its name.

Dinner waited on the kitchenette counter. He’d ordered early enough to get the chicken instead of the fish, which always seemed to spend too long in transit. There were carrots, potatoes, and a piece of bread he intended to use on the gravy.

He took the plate to his chair and reached for the novel.

The bookmark had fallen out.

"Of course."

Silas balanced the plate on his knees and searched for the stable scene. He found an unfamiliar argument about an inheritance, went back several pages, and finally recognized the duke insulting the horse.

He began reading while he ate. The hero’s attempt to demand satisfaction became considerably less dignified when the horse bit a man who had nothing to do with the argument. Silas laughed with a mouthful of potato and had to put the book down until he could swallow.

He’d needed that.

The author seemed perfectly willing to let the hero make an ass of himself. Silas liked him better for it. By the time he finished dinner, the duel had been postponed and the unfortunate bitten man had acquired a lawyer.

He carried his plate to the sink before picking the book up again.

Outside, students were heading toward the reception. He could hear groups passing through the courtyard, stopping to call up to windows or argue about which entrance they were supposed to use. Someone whistled. A voice above his window told them to keep it down.

Silas drew the curtain far enough to keep the lamplight from reflecting in the glass and settled back into his chair.

He could have attended. The reception wasn’t compulsory, and he had no interest in dressing up to be looked at by people who already disliked him. His collar was open, his feet were comfortable, and the next Chapter of the book had just begun.

A message from Evan arrived while he was reading.

Did the maintenance work go all right? Tobin said they finished.

Silas put a finger between the pages.

Finished and paid.

Evan’s reply came a moment later.

Good. Nera says there may be more gauges next week. I’ve told her to ask you herself.

Silas glanced at the closed calendar. He could have opened it and sent his hours. Instead, he adjusted the book on his knee so he wouldn’t lose his page again.

She can ask me next week.

All right. Enjoy your evening, Evan wrote.

I intend to.

Silas set the terminal aside. He didn’t ask whether there were any other jobs waiting.

The evening passed pleasantly. He made tea, opened the window a little when the room grew warm, and read until the plate he’d washed was dry in its rack. Once, he got up to stretch because his hip had begun to ache. The soreness eased after a slow circuit of the studio.

He was still far from healthy. He could, however, get through an evening without feeling sick or having to stop halfway across the room. He stood at the kitchenette for a moment, enjoying how unremarkable that had become, then returned to his book.

By the time he reached the end of the next Chapter, the courtyard was loud again. The first groups were coming back from the reception. Their conversations drifted up through the open window, interrupted by laughter and the occasional scrape of a chair from another room.

Silas checked the time. Nearly midnight.

He put the bookmark securely between the pages this time and went to wash. When he came back, he closed the window, put his cup in the sink, and turned down the main light.

The knock came before he reached the bed.

It was light enough that he waited to see whether he’d heard it correctly. Then someone knocked twice more, unevenly.

"Silas?"

A girl’s voice. He stood with one hand on the back of his chair.

"Who is it?"

"Lydia. Please, could you open the door?"

He knew the voice now. Lydia Rooke, from the branch family. Another first-year, though they hadn’t spoken since he’d arrived in this body.

Silas turned the main light back up and approached the entrance. His awareness gave him the position of the latch beneath his hand, the shoes beside his feet, and nothing about the girl waiting on the other side.

He opened the door partway.

Lydia had one hand braced against the wall. She was pale beneath the corridor lights, her brown hair coming loose from a careful arrangement. A clasp still held one side in place; the other hung against her cheek. She looked up at him and tried to speak before she’d caught her breath.

"I think someone followed me."

Silas looked past her. The stretch of corridor he could see was empty.

"From where?"

"The reception. I thought he was only going the same way, but when I turned—" She swallowed and pressed her free hand against her stomach. "I don’t feel well."

"Do you need the infirmary?"

Lydia shook her head too quickly and stopped, closing her eyes. "I need to sit down. Just for a moment. Please."

She was pretty, even looking as miserable as she did now. The inherited memories offered him several much tidier versions of her: a polite greeting at a family gathering, a brief conversation before someone else claimed her attention. She had never been openly unpleasant to him. She had also rarely stayed to talk.

Now she was standing at his door after midnight, asking for help.

Silas kept his hand on the door. "Did you recognize him?"

"No. I didn’t wait to look properly." Her gaze flicked along the corridor. "Your room was close. I didn’t know where else to go."

He let her finish. She looked genuinely unsteady, though she was still supporting herself against the wall rather than reaching for him.

Easy. Let her sit down first.

"Come in," Silas said, moving aside. "The chair by the desk."

Lydia murmured a thank-you and crossed the threshold.

The private reading opened as she entered. Silas followed her movement into the room while the information settled in his vision.

[Guest: Lydia Rooke.]

[Soul Talent: Burst Motion — B / Rare.]

[Record Talent?]

His temporary slot was empty. He accepted the prompt before Lydia reached the chair.

[Burst Motion recorded.]

[Assimilation: 0%.]

[Remaining Duration: 7 days.]