Valeria Embercrown did not touch the travel writ.
She circled it.
That was the first lesson.
Most people approached evidence like a door: open, read, react, regret. Valeria approached it like a predator pretending to be furniture. Three slow steps around the carriage footboard. Parasol tilted. Crimson gloves folded. Smile absent, which made the courtyard feel colder than the void-thread horses.
The travel writ sat where Maeron Vale had left it.
Black wax. Valdrake crest. Recipient right hand required.
The carriage remained under the arch, silent and empty. Its door had not opened again. The horses did not eat, stamp, flick ears, or acknowledge biology. Students gathered in careful half-circles at the edge of acceptable curiosity. Veylan had drawn a red-ink boundary on the courtyard stone and threatened disciplinary education against anyone crossing it.
Nobody crossed.
Astral Zenith students were reckless, not suicidal.
