Chapter 2: The Curated Path

　　A week passed. The Archives remained a sanctuary of dust and quiet, but the quality of the silence had changed, for Caden at least. It now thrummed with a low, anticipatory energy. He had thrown his stone into the pond; now, his entire being was focused on reading the ripples.

　　Violet Sorrengail returned. It was not the frantic, desperate flight of her first visit. This time, her entrance was deliberate. She moved with a new wariness, her intelligent eyes scanning the shadows between the shelves not with fear, but with a searching intensity. The bruise on her arm had faded to a sickly yellow-green, but a fresh cut adorned her brow. The training grounds were as merciless as ever.

　　Caden observed from the deepest gloom, a specter wrapped in the smell of old paper. He watched her go directly to the table she had occupied before. Her gaze swept the surface, and a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of disappointment crossed her features when she found it empty. Good, he thought. You felt it. The hook is set.

　　She did not immediately reach for the gryphon book. Instead, she sat for a long moment, her fingers drumming a silent, restless rhythm on the wood. She was thinking. Processing. The lesson of the stream and the stone was taking root.

　　It was time to provide the next piece. The curated path had to feel like discovery, not delivery.

　　He had spent days preparing for this moment. The night before, he had pulled a specific, slender volume from the restricted section—a forgotten treatise by a dragon rider from a bygone era, titled On the Aerodynamic Advantages of the Lesser Breeds. It argued that smaller, lighter dragons, and by extension their riders, could exploit wind currents and agility in ways that brute strength could never counter. It was heretical thinking in a college that worshipped raw power like Tairn’s. It was perfect.

　　He had placed it not on her table, but in the geology section, one shelf away from where she had found the Esbenay book. The mis-shelving was deliberate, plausible, but noticeable to a searching eye.

　　Violet, after her period of stillness, finally rose. She did not go to the military tactics aisle. She walked, almost hesitantly, towards the geology shelves. Caden’s breath stilled. This was the first test.

　　She ran her fingers along the spines, her head tilted. She was looking for something. Him? Or the idea he represented? Her hand paused near the gap where the Esbenay book belonged. And then, her fingers brushed against the slender volume he had planted.

　　She pulled it out. On the Aerodynamic Advantages of the Lesser Breeds. She stared at the title, her brow furrowed. This was not what she was looking for. But it was, Caden knew, exactly what she needed.

　　He chose that moment to emerge from the shadows. He did not look at her. Instead, he began re-shelving books from a cart a few aisles down, his movements slow and methodical. The clatter of a heavy folio being slotted into place made her jump. Her head snapped up, and her eyes locked onto him.

　　Caden pretended not to notice for a count of three, then turned as if sensing her stare. He offered the same, faintly apologetic nod from the previous week.

　　“You,” she said, her voice quiet but clear, cutting through the silence. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement, laden with unasked questions.

　　Caden feigned mild surprise. “Can I help you find something, Cadet?” he asked, his tone neutrally polite, that of a servant addressing a superior.

　　Violet took a step forward, the book still clutched in her hand. “Last week. What you said about the stream… and the mountain.”

　　He blinked slowly, a man struggling to recall a triviality. “The Esbenay? Ah, yes. A fascinating range. Is the text not to your liking? I can find you something more… practical.” He gestured vaguely towards the military history section, playing his part perfectly.

　　“No,” she said, too quickly. She held up the slender volume. “This was with the geology books.”

　　Caden allowed a faint, weary smile to touch his lips. “A common error. The new pages they send me… their letters are better than their library skills.” He took a step closer, peering at the book in her hand. “Hmm. Aerodynamic Advantages. An unusual choice for a first-year. The curriculum favors… larger game.” He let the implication hang. Larger game, like the gryphons you were studying. Or the massive dragons like Tairn that everyone covets.

　　Violet’s gaze intensified. She was studying him now, looking past the limp, the worn clothes, the tired eyes. She was looking for the man who had spoken with such pointed weight. “You’re not like the other archivists.”

　　“I am old, Cadet. That is the only difference.” He turned back to his cart, a clear dismissal. The interaction had to be brief. It had to feel inconsequential. “The Archives are full of misfiled ideas. Sometimes, the most interesting ones are found in the wrong section.”

　　He pushed his cart away, the squeak of its wheels a counterpoint to the pounding of his own heart. He had given her the next clue. He had confirmed his presence was intentional, yet shrouded it in the perfect excuse of clerical error and an old man’s rambling.

　　He did not look back, but he felt her eyes on him until he turned a corner. Later, from his hiding place, he watched her. She did not leave. She took the book back to her table and read it with a ferocious concentration he had not seen before. He saw the moment the concept truly struck her—a slight widening of the eyes, a quickening of her breath as she read about how a smaller wing surface could allow for tighter turns, faster acceleration. It was a theory that applied not just to lesser dragons, but to a smaller, weaker cadet facing larger, stronger opponents.

　　She was no longer just reading. She was solving a puzzle. His puzzle.

　　The fallen knight had offered his first piece of armor. Not a shield or a sword, but a new way to see the battlefield. And the girl, the quick, brilliant mind he had bet everything on, had taken it.

　　The path was now open. The next intervention would be riskier, more direct. But for now, he watched the ember glow a little brighter, and the cold, hard thing that had taken the place of his heart allowed itself a single, grim pulse of satisfaction. The game was indeed afoot.

　　Chapter 2 - End