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A fire burned in a deep hearth, safety runes bright around the edge. Students sat in little knots, talking low. A board on the wall held notices: lost sock, found spoon, study circle for basic runes, "Do NOT leave bread under the stairs the mice are unionizing — Warden L."

John checked the cart was tucked away by a wall. It was. He took the tools bundle and brought it back upstairs. Warden Lutch passed them on the landing and sniffed like a person who can smell secrets. She did not stop them. She did not need to.

Back in the room, evening began to cool the window. The light went soft and long. The lamp on the desk took the glow and made it steady. Fizz stood on the desk and peered at the letter again. "Plain clothes," he read. "We have those. Token. We have that. Cohort. We will get one. Rules. We will break none. I will break none. I will try to break none. I will break none in public."

John sat on the bed and leaned his back against the wall. He was tired in the good way you are tired after a long day that put things in their right places. He thought of the temple and the way Sera had looked at him. He thought of Penny's hand on his arm, firm and kind. He thought of Pim's face when the coin moved on its own. He thought of the stairs and how they hummed like they were listening. He thought, briefly, of the lane and the men who would not walk again. His chest tightened once, as if a rope he had tied had tugged, then loosened. The system's work from the night before held.

Fizz floated near his shoulder and went quiet in the special way he could. When he was quiet like that, it was like a small lamp set low in a corner. You felt it, and it helped.

"You will be fine," Fizz said after a while, not in a loud voice, not with a joke. "You always are. And if you are not, I will talk until the problem dies."

John let a small breath out. "That is a plan," he said.

A runner came down the hall tapping with a stick and called, "Tenth bell soon! Lamps low! Doors lock!"

Fizz hopped once and then settled. "I do not like locked doors," he said.

"You like rules," John said.

"I like rules I can roast," Fizz said. "Locked doors are hard to roast."

John stood, checked the window latch, checked the door latch, checked the token on the table, checked the folded letter one more time, and then lay down with his boots next to the bed and his hands under his head. The room hummed like a hive that had made peace with night.

Fizz tried the cupboard again, climbed inside, and then climbed out. "Too echo," he said. He curled at the foot of John's bed instead, small, bright, steady.

"Do not snore," John said.

"I sing," Fizz said.

"Do not sing," John said.

Fizz closed his eyes. "Fine," he whispered. "I will hum inside."

The tenth bell rolled across the city, down the halls, up the stairs. Doors clicked. Lamps settled to a softer glow. The painting at the far end of the hall slowed its river to a night pace.

On John's desk, the orientation letter sat under the lamp. The last line on the back winked once in his mind as he drifted: If you do not read the rules, you will break one. Breaking one is still breaking one. He had read them. He planned not to break any. He planned to be on time.

Outside, the city breathed. Somewhere, in a high room with too many books, a man with a white beard and a dark hat and a pipe sat and made plans. Somewhere else, a girl with a braid and sharp eyes moved in shadows and made other plans that were now not quite her own. In a house with a crooked sign, a boy read the first page of a book with clean lines and stopped after two sentences, not because he did not understand, but because he wanted the moment to last longer.

And in East House, room Three, bed B, John closed his eyes, and the day folded itself down like a map put away for tomorrow.

The night was thick and quiet. East House slept. The river in the painting barely moved. The stairs hummed to themselves like a cat.

John lay on Bed B, eyes shut, breath slow. Fizz was a small warm ball at the foot of the mattress, whiskers twitching. He was smiling in his sleep.

In his dream, a street of his old world glowed with lanterns that floated like soft fruit. A girl walked toward him across a bridge made of steam. She had wind in her hair and a laugh that shook little bells. Her name was Susan. She carried a plate with something like pancakes, only they were shaped like moons and had stars melted into them. "For you," she said, voice like warm tea. "Do not roast the sky tonight." Fizz reached out, shy for once, the world sweet and bright—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The door rattled like a drum. Fizz shot into the air, fur spiking. "WHO DARES," he yelped, wild-eyed. "I was on a date! With destiny! And syrup!"

The knocking kept coming. BANG. BANG. "Open up!" a voice slurred.

John was already on his feet. He crossed the room in three long steps and slid the latch. He pulled the door open.

A boy leaned in the frame, tall, red hair tossed like it thought highly of itself, coat slung over one shoulder as if the hall was a stage. His eyes were bright and wrong with drink. A badge with a small flame winked on his collar.

"About time," the boy snapped. "I almost froze out here. You make a noble wait?" He swept past John without asking and nearly tripped on the rug. "Room A. That's mine. I'm Ray. Ray Flame. Count Flame family. Remember it."

Fizz floated up, hands on hips. "Remember this: bang the door like that again and I will bill you for dream damage. Do you know how rare it is for me to dream of Susan? Susan! She had star - cakes! You ruined star-cakes! My sweet dream of Susan. All is gone..."

Ray blinked, focused, and squinted at Fizz as if trying to measure him with a broken ruler.

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