“Get up here and work it out in your head,” Imogen orders.

“Seriously, it’s mad. Like, undoable. We’d get thrown in the brig if we’re caught.” I snap my mouth shut before I say anything more.

But it’s too late—Imogen’s eyes are sparkling with interest.

“Get. Up. Here. And. Work. It. Out,” she orders, making sure I know it’s not a suggestion.

“We can wield, right?” I stand, brushing my hands down my sides and the hilts of the six daggers sheathed there.

“By all means necessary,” Heaton repeats, nodding.

“All right.” I rock back on my heels, letting my mind whirl through a plan. “I know Ridoc can wield ice, Rhiannon can retrieve, Sawyer can manipulate metal, Imogen can mind-wipe recent memories—”

“And I’m fast,” she adds.

Something she has in common with Xaden.

“Heaton, what about you?” I ask.

“I can breathe underwater,” they answer.

I blink. “Awesome, but I don’t think that’s going to come in handy if we do this. Emery?”

“I can control wind.” He grins. “A lot of wind.”

All right, that one could be defensively useful, but not quite what I’m looking for.

My boots squeak on the floor as I turn to face her. “Quinn?”

“I can astral project. Keep my body in one place and then walk around somewhere else.”

My mouth hangs open, matching about half the squad.

“I know, it’s pretty awesome.” She winks, pulling her curls up into a bun.

“Yes. That we can use.” My head bobs as I parcel through the easiest way to do this.

“What are you thinking, Sorrengail?” Imogen prompts, tucking the short hair on one side of her shaved head behind her ear.

“You’re going to tell me I’ve lost my mind, but if we pull it off, we’ll win for sure.” I might not be enough like my mother to win her approval, but I know where she keeps the most valuable information.

“And?”

“We’re going to break into my mother’s office.”

…

“You are so fucking creepy.” Ridoc squirms two hours later, leaning away from Quinn, well, from Quinn’s astral form. Her body is currently with Heaton, guarded in the weight room.

The rest of us are sneaking through the hallways past the Healer Quadrant. We’ve already run into a squad from Second and another from Third, but none of us had time to question or deter the others.

We’ll rise or fall on our own merit with this timeline, and we’ve wasted the last two hours waiting for night to fall so it would even be possible.

“I’ve never been farther than this,” Emery says as we pass the last door to the clinic.

“You’ve never even been to the Archives?” Imogen asks.

“I avoid that duty like the plague,” Emery answers. “Scribes freak me out. Quiet little know-it-alls, acting like they can make or break someone by writing something down.”

I grin. There’s more truth to that statement than most people realize.

“Infantry is still out camping.” Rhiannon points out the windows to the dozens of campfires illuminating the field below.

“Must be nice to get a break,” Nadine remarks, but there’s no snotty tone I’ve come to expect, just the same exhaustion I think we all feel. “Scribes will all go home for the summer. Healers get to spend their weekends on those mind-body-health retreats, and the infantry might have to practice making and breaking camp in the snow through winter, but at least they spend those months around a campfire.”

“We’ll get to go home,” Imogen argues.

“After graduation,” Rhiannon retorts. “For what? A couple of days?”

We come to a fork in the path, where we can follow the tunnel down to the Archives or climb into the fortress of the war college.

“There’s no turning back from here,” I say to the group, looking up the spiral staircase I’ve climbed so many times that I know each step by heart.

“Lead on!” Quinn orders, and we all jump about a foot in the air.

“Shhh!” Imogen hisses. “Some of us can get caught, you know.”

“Right. Sorry.” Quinn cringes.

“Everyone, remember the plan,” I whisper. “No one deviates. No one.”

They all nod, and we begin our silent climb up the dark stairs, then cling to the shadows as we cross the stone courtyard of Basgiath.

“Sure could use Xaden right about now.”

“You’re doing great,” Andarna assures me in the happiest of tones. I swear, nothing bothers her. She’s the most fearless kid I’ve ever met, and I grew up with Mira.

“It’s six flights straight up,” I whisper when we reach the next set of stairs, and we continue to climb as fast as we can without making any noise. Anxiety spikes, and my power rises in response, the relic in my back heating to an uncomfortable burn. It’s always there lately, simmering beneath my skin, reminding me that performing lesser magics isn’t going to be enough to vent it if I don’t manifest a signet soon.

Eventually, we reach the top of the steps, and Liam leans out just far enough to see down the length of what’s always felt like the world’s longest hallway. “There are mage lights in sconces,” he whispers. “And you were right.” He withdraws into the safety of the stairwell. “There’s only one guard stationed at the door.”

“Was there any light under the door?” I ask quietly. My heart sounds like it’s loud enough for the whole college to hear, even the infantry cadets sleeping hundreds of feet below us.

“No.” He turns to Quinn. “The guard looks about six feet tall, but he seems pretty athletic. The other stairwell is down the hallway to the left, which means you’ll have to get his attention and then book it.”

Quinn nods. “No problem.”

“Everyone else know what they’re doing?” I ask.