"I know."

"No, you don’t." She looked at him again, more open now. "I stayed away because I trusted you when you said it was dangerous. That doesn’t mean it was easy. I kept thinking, if something happens to him while I’m sitting here writing about arrow coatings, I’ll never forgive myself."

Trafalgar’s fingers tightened slightly over his knee.

"You helped," he said.

Cynthia searched his face, unsure whether he meant it or was reaching for comfort. He firmed his voice. "I mean that. The Lower Conservatory lead mattered. Thanks to that I found a connection to the Atrium - you noticed things most people walked past without seeing."

Her expression shifted, pride and embarrassment crossing her face at once. "You could have told me that earlier."

"I’m telling you now."

"Very generous of you."

"I’m improving."

That drew a real smile from her, small but impossible to mistake. The train curved along the outer rails, light shifting across the compartment, turning the window into a pale reflection of them both. Cynthia studied that reflection instead of him for a while.

"Barth would have loved the event," she said suddenly.

"The inventions?"

"The inventions, the stage, the smoke, the boy almost crying when he won, Master Orven von Halbrecht looking as if he’d bitten into a lemon and discovered paperwork inside it." She shook her head, fondness slipping through before she could catch it. "Barth would pretend to understand every mechanism and ask questions until somebody begged him to stop."

Trafalgar pictured it without effort. "He would probably ask any alchemist or magical engineer whether being angry improved engineering."

Cynthia laughed under her breath. "He would. And they would either ignore him or lecture him for twenty minutes about the discipline of unprofessional questions."

"Barth would enjoy both outcomes."

"That’s the worst part. He really would." She adjusted the strap of her bag. "He and the others should be back from their excursion soon, right?"

"That’s what I heard."

"He’ll ask about everything the second he sees me. Whether Aurevane was as beautiful as people say, whether the inventions were strange or not, whether the food was expensive, whether you fought anybody, whether anything exploded."

"And what are you going to tell him?"

"A truth small enough that he can’t pull on it without my permission." Cynthia glanced sideways at him. "He’s curious, not stupid - but he’s still my brother. If I hand him one loose thread, he’ll keep tugging until the whole coat falls apart in front of me."

"You’re very protective of him."

"I had to be." Her voice went quieter, though there was no helplessness in it - only old habit worn smooth. "For a long time it was Barth and me before anyone else. Even when Sister Alena helped, even after the orphanage became home, I never stopped feeling that if I looked away too long, something could happen to him."

Trafalgar didn’t interrupt.

Cynthia looked down at her hands. "It sounds exhausting when I say it out loud."

"It sounds like you love him."

"I do." Her mouth softened. "He annoys me constantly, asks questions at the worst possible times, and somehow keeps finding ways to attach himself to dangerous people."

Trafalgar lifted a brow.

"Yes, I meant you," she said.

"I assumed."

"You should."

The conversation eased after that, though it didn’t go hollow. Cynthia talked about Barth’s excursion, about how Xavier would return pretending he hadn’t enjoyed himself, about how Zafira would probably have a criticism prepared for every guide, building, meal, and decorative banner. Trafalgar listened and added enough to keep her going. He found he liked hearing her talk about ordinary problems. They had edges, but they didn’t bleed.

At some point, the compartment quieted. Students in the neighboring seats began to doze or murmur among themselves. Aurevane faded into the distance until its towers looked almost innocent.

Cynthia’s voice came softer when she broke the quiet again. "When we get back... are you going to disappear into more work?"

Trafalgar didn’t answer immediately, though this time he didn’t reach for evasion either. "It depends on what happens next."

She gave him a tired look. "That is exactly the answer I expected, which is exactly why I dislike it. You should try variety some day."

"I plan to finish the Academy," he said.

Cynthia blinked, surprised by the directness.

"I have things to prepare," Trafalgar continued. "There are problems waiting outside the Academy that won’t vanish because I ignore them. But leaving early would create more trouble than it solves. I need the training, the access, the connections, the official standing. Graduating gives me more room to move."

"So you’re staying."

"For the foreseeable future, yes."

Cynthia turned toward the window again. Her reflection didn’t hide the relief quickly enough, and Trafalgar caught it anyway.

"You were worried I’d leave?"

"I was worried you’d decide there were bigger things than staying," she said. "And maybe there are. I’m not naive enough to think the Academy is the center of your world. But I wanted to know whether you were already halfway gone in your head."

"I’m here."

"For now," she said, though without accusation this time.

"For now," he agreed. "And while I’m here, I don’t plan to vanish from your life the second the train stops."

Cynthia’s fingers relaxed against her bag. She didn’t look at him, but the small smile that touched her face gave her away. "That was a better answer."

"I worked hard on it. Hours of rehearsal."

"I could tell. It almost sounded like a real human being trying."

"Cruel."

"Honest. The two can overlap, remember?"

"You’re learning from the wrong teacher."

"You’re the only one available."

Aurevane was nearly gone behind them, swallowed by distance and afternoon sunlight. Cynthia kept her attention through the glass, calmer now, and Trafalgar watched her instead.

Somewhere between the train attack, the Lower Conservatory, Selara’s secrets, the false shine of Aurevane, and the way Cynthia had waited for him without ever demanding more than he could give, she had moved closer than he’d intended. She wasn’t only Barth’s sister anymore, nor only the archer with a quick tongue and steady hands. She had become someone he searched for when the danger eased - someone whose worry didn’t feel like a leash, someone who turned a difficult answer into a painfully simple one.

The words arrived before he could talk himself into a better moment.

Cynthia kept watching the window, unaware of the exact shape his thoughts had taken.

Trafalgar’s voice came low enough that the train almost swallowed it.

"I like you, Cynthia."