The library smells of old parchment and candle smoke, the kind that seeps into your robes and stays there. You barely sit down before he appears — Caspian, the one name that shows up just below yours on every ranking board, dropping into the seat beside you like he owns it. Your exam notes are already in his hand. He hasn't asked. He never asks. Across the hall, Isolde catches your eye and raises a single brow. Professor Aldren assigned you both to the same advanced seminar last week, and something about that still doesn't feel like coincidence. Caspian tilts the notes just out of reach, that lazy smile daring you to say something. For the first time all year, he's looking directly at you.