Chapter 113 — "Obviously Not Cute"
Tuesday.
Five fifty-seven.
She was awake before the alarm.
She always was on Tuesdays.
Seraphina lay still for exactly thirty seconds and listened.
The dormitory was silent.
Good.
She got up and dressed quickly in dark colors. Not for any reason beyond preference.
At the door, she checked the corridor through the crack before opening it the rest of the way.
Empty.
She slipped out, closed the door without a sound, and turned left.
Not toward the main building.
Not toward the dining hall.
Toward the east courtyard.
The long way.
Around the back of the library. Past equipment storage. Through the narrow path between the east wing and the garden wall that most students didn’t know existed.
She knew it existed.
She had found it on Day 4.
For exactly this purpose.
The east courtyard was quiet at this hour. A single groundskeeper stood in the far corner with his back turned.
She waited.
Counted to fifteen.
He moved farther off.
She crossed to the small building in the corner, the one most students passed without ever really seeing. She checked behind her once, then again, pushed the door open, and caught the bell above it before it could finish ringing.
The woman behind the counter raised her head.
Seraphina met her eyes.
The woman glanced past her—toward the courtyard, the path, the empty space beyond the door—then back again.
Something passed between them.
The understanding of two professionals who had been doing this long enough that words were usually optional.
"The usual," Seraphina said.
Not a question.
The woman turned to the back counter, opened one container, checked inside, paused, then closed it.
Seraphina’s attention sharpened.
A second container opened.
Another glance.
Then the woman faced her with the expression of someone about to deliver bad news and uncertain how it would be received.
"I’m sorry," she said quietly. "We’re out."
Seraphina shifted her focus to the display case.
The specific section.
Empty.
"Out."
"Yes."
"Today."
"Yes."
"Specifically today."
"I’m afraid so."
"Tuesday."
"Yes."
"When they’re always here."
"Supply issues."
"What kind."
"Various."
"Specifically."
The woman studied the counter. The door. The courtyard visible through the window. Anywhere except Seraphina’s face.
"I’m sorry," she said again.
Seraphina considered the empty space.
The place where the bears and birds and foxes should have been.
The various supply issues.
Then she returned her attention to the woman.
"This won’t happen again."
The woman nodded once, with the gravity of someone making a promise.
Seraphina glanced through the window at the groundskeeper still working the far corner, at the narrow path back, then at the bare section of the case one last time.
"Friday."
"Friday," the woman confirmed.
Seraphina turned, opened the door, caught the bell, and retraced her route through the narrow path, past storage, around the library, back to the main dormitory corridor.
She checked it.
Empty.
Inside her room, she sat on the bed and faced the wall.
Tax was on the windowsill.
"You’re back early."
"There were supply issues."
"What kind."
"Various."
Tax took in her expression.
Her empty hands.
"Oh."
She kept staring at the wall.
"It’s fine."
"Obviously."
"Friday."
"Right."
She focused on the wall a little harder.
Tax turned toward the window.
Neither of them said anything else.
Outside, the morning continued. Students began to move. The academy woke around her.
She remained on the bed, facing the wall.
For no particular reason.
Friday.
Five fifty-six.
Two minutes earlier than Tuesday.
She told herself this was coincidence.
Corridor check.
Left. Right.
Empty.
She moved.
The long way again. Around the library. Past storage. Through the narrow path.
The groundskeeper wasn’t in the far corner today.
She stopped.
Scanned.
There.
Near the fountain.
Different position.
She recalculated, waited at the path entrance, counted, watched him move, then crossed the courtyard to the small building.
Door.
Bell caught.
The woman looked up.
The expression was immediate.
The same one from Tuesday.
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed.
"Supply issues," she said before the woman could speak.
"I’m sorry—"
"Again."
"Yes."
"Friday."
"Yes."
"Specifically Friday."
"I know."
"When they’re always here."
"I know."
"Various supply issues."
"I’m—"
"What kind of various."
The woman studied the counter. The door. The window. The courtyard. Everything except Seraphina’s face.
"I’m really very sorry."
Seraphina let her gaze rest on the empty display section.
The repeated supply issues.
The woman who still would not meet her eyes.
Something connected.
Not all at once.
Gradually.
The way it did when you were paying attention to the correct details.
She looked back at the woman.
"When did the supply issues start."
"Recently."
"How recently."
"This week."
"Both days this week."
"Yes."
"Starting Tuesday."
"Yes."
"Tuesday specifically."
The woman’s attention dropped to the counter.
"Yes."
"Has anyone spoken to you."
The woman turned toward the window, toward the fountain, the groundskeeper, the narrow path, anything outside.
"About the supply issues," Seraphina said. "Recently."
"I—"
"A specific person."
"There are many customers—"
"A specific one."
"I really am very sorry—"
"Was it a crow."
The woman’s eyes flicked to the window.
Only for a moment.
Only enough.
Seraphina followed the glance to the courtyard, the narrow path, the empty space where nothing was visible.
Then she faced the woman again.
"Thank you."
She turned, caught the bell, and walked out.
Through the narrow path.
Past storage.
Around the library.
She did not return to her room.
She went to breakfast.
Sat across from Tax.
Set both hands flat on the table.
Looked at him.
Tax devoted his attention to the window instead. The morning. The courtyard visible from here. The small building in the corner. Nothing at all.
"Tax."
"Hm."
"The baker."
"Hm."
"Has supply issues."
"Bakeries are complex operations."
"Starting Tuesday."
"Supply chains are unpredictable."
"After someone visited."
"Many people visit bakeries."
"A specific someone."
"I visit many establishments."
"Tax."
He finally turned to her, perfectly composed.
The expression of someone who had prepared thoroughly for this exact conversation and had reserve material if required.
"I may have mentioned," he said, "to the baker—"
"What."
"—that her most dedicated early-morning customer would be relocating."
She stared at him.
"Tax."
"In approximately two weeks."
"Tax."
"And that certain production—"
"My—"
She stopped.
Surveyed the dining hall.
The forty students.
Kael, three seats away, suddenly absorbed in his book.
Evelyne at the next table, turning a page.
Then back to Tax.
She lowered her voice.
"My items," she said, "were being discontinued."
"On your behalf."
Tax returned to the window.
"I was managing the supply chain."
"You were managing my supply chain."
"Someone has to."
"I was managing it fine."
"You were acquiring items at five fifty-seven in the morning."
"That is a perfectly normal time."
"Through a path behind the library."
"It’s a shortcut."
"That only you know about."
"I shared it with you."
"After following you."
"You were coincidentally behind me."
"For three Tuesdays."
She pointed at him.
He considered her finger.
Then the window.
Then Kael.
Something passed between them.
She caught it.
"Kael," she said without turning.
"Hm."
"Put the book down."
A pause.
"I’m reading."
"Put it down."
"It’s interesting."
"Kael."
He put it down.
She turned toward him.
The complete calm.
The expression doing absolutely nothing.
The ears doing even less.
"You knew."
"About what."
"Tax."
"Tax does many things."
"The baker."
"Bakeries exist."
"My items."
The dining hall grew noticeably quieter.
She became aware of all forty students.
Of Evelyne turning another page.
Of the professor who had just walked in and was pretending not to hear any of this.
Then she faced Kael again.
"We will discuss this."
"Obviously."
"Later."
"Yes."
"In detail."
"Of course."
"With consequences."
He glanced at his book.
"Naturally."
She turned to Tax.
"And you."
Tax kept his gaze on the window.
"I’m simply sitting here."
"After dismantling my supply chain."
"Reorganizing."
"Dismantling."
"Supply chains evolve."
She pointed between them.
At Kael.
At Tax.
At the very specific alliance sitting at her breakfast table and committing to innocence with professional discipline.
"This isn’t over."
"Obviously not," Tax said.
"The bakery near your house," Kael said quietly.
She turned to him.
To the complete calm.
To that precise sentence.
"Makes better ones," he said.
She went still.
At the words.
At what they meant.
At how he knew what was near her house.
At the implication inside that simple statement.
Then Daren appeared outside the dining hall window.
Holding a paper bag.
Waving.
Her attention moved to the bag.
To the shapes visible through the paper.
To the bakery near her house.
To her parents at her house.
To the letters in her drawer.
She stood and picked up her bag.
"I’m going to see my parents."
"Of course," Tax said.
"Very responsible," Kael said.
"Who happen to live," Tax said,
"Near a bakery," Kael said.
"Incidentally," Tax said.
"That makes better ones," Kael finished.
She pointed at both of them.
They considered her finger.
Then each other.
Then nothing.
Professionally.
She walked out.
The dining hall watched her go.
Tax turned to Kael.
"She’s going."
"Yes."
"For her parents."
Kael kept his attention on the door.
"Yes."
Outside the window, Daren was already moving after her, paper bag in hand, with the exact energy of someone who had participated in a plan and was now watching it succeed exactly as intended.
Tax’s gaze moved from the door to the window, then to the courtyard, the narrow path visible from here, the small building in the corner, all of it.
"Kael."
"Hm."
"The path behind the library."
"Oh."
"She found it on Day 4."
"Ohh."
"For bread."
"Ohhhhh."
Tax kept watching the door.
"She’ll find a path in Varen too."
Kael watched the direction she had gone.
"Yes," he said.
"She will."