adjudication_pass: promote Chapter_12_draft.md original=1b60f5ee-5f69-4c37-bdef-c741baa1ae48

the-starfall-accord/deliverables/Chapter_12_draft.md

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 The Chancellor’s Sanctum no longer smelled of ozone and scorched wool; it smelled of rain on hot stone and the quiet, heavy scent of old books finally allowed to rest.
 
-I stood by the wide, arched window, watching the morning light filter through the glass. It wasn’t the angry, bruised purple of the Starfall years, nor the sterile, blinding white of the old Spire lamps. It was a soft, perpetual mercury-grey, a color that seemed to hum with a secret, steady power. Below, the Volcanic Reach was transformed. The jagged basalt peaks were still there, but the valleys between them were catching the new light, turning the obsidian flows into rivers of muted silver.
+Mira stood by the wide, east-facing window, her palms pressed against the cool basalt of the sill. The stone didn’t bite with the jagged heat of a looming eruption, nor did it shiver with the artificial frost Dorian used to bring with him like a walking shroud. It was simply... temperate. The "Grey" wasn't just a color in the sky; it was a physical state of the world. Outside, the Volcanic Reach was transformed. The angry, violet-white flares of the Great Hearth had settled into a steady, rhythmic pulse of mercury-grey light that mirrored the swirling nebula of the stabilized Starfall above.
 
-A month. It had been exactly one month since the light on the bridge had stopped screaming and started breathing.
+A month. It had been thirty days since the light on the bridge had stopped screaming and started breathing.
 
-"The evidence suggests," a voice said from the mahogany desk behind me, "that the central thermal conduits in the western dormitory are functioning at 98% efficiency. Which is... acceptable."
+"The evidence suggests," a voice said from the massive mahogany desk behind her, "that the structural integrity of the Western Dormitory is now holding at a ninety-eight percent efficiency rating. Which is... acceptable."
 
-I didn't have to turn around to see Dorian. I could feel him. The physical leash—that white-hot wire that used to yank at my sternum if we drifted fifteen feet apart—was gone, but the resonance remained. It was a voluntary frequency now, a low-grade warmth in the back of my mind that tasted like winter mint and ancient parchment. 
+Mira didn't turn around. She didn't have to. The physical leash—that white-hot wire of pain that had yanked at her sternum for the first nine chapters of their shared life—was gone. The "fifteen-foot rule" had been legally and magically dissolved the moment the Paradox signature integrated into their respective nervous systems. Yet, as she looked at her reflection in the glass, she saw Dorian sitting exactly six feet behind her.
 
-"Actually. No," I said, turning to grin at him. "It’s not 'acceptable,' Dorian. It’s a miracle. Those conduits haven't seen 98% efficiency since the Third Era. One of my students figured out how to use a static lattice to stabilize the heat-flicker. A Spire technique. Applied to a Pyre engine."
+They were still in the same orbit. Not because the law demanded it, but because the silence was too loud when he wasn't there to anchor it.
 
-Dorian Solas sat amidst a mountain of parchment that would have made me set the room on fire weeks ago. He looked... different. The rigid, over-engineered frost of his official persona had thawed into something leaner and more vital. He wasn't wearing his heavy ceremonial furs. Instead, he wore a simple tunic of charcoal wool, the sleeves pushed back to reveal hands that were no longer trembling with metabolic fatigue.
+"Actually. No," Mira said, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "It’s not 'acceptable,' Dorian. It’s a miracle. Those conduits haven't seen ninety-eight percent since my grandfather was an initiate. One of the first-year Spire transfers figured out how to use a cooling-lattice to stabilize the steam-surge. He didn't even use a calculator. He just... felt the pressure."
 
-"The student in question is Elara," Dorian noted, his quill scratching rhythmically against a ledger. He didn't look up, but I felt his amusement ripple through the resonance. "She informed me that her 'kinetic partner'—a boy named Aric with a distressing tendency to speak in exclamations—suggested the solution while they were attempting to flash-freeze a soup spill in the dining hall."
+Dorian Solas sat amidst a mountain of parchment that would have sent Mira into a kinetic rage weeks ago. He looked different. The rigid, over-engineered frost of his official persona had thawed into something leaner, more vital. He wasn't wearing his heavy ceremonial furs today; he wore a simple tunic of charcoal wool, the sleeves pushed back to reveal a right hand that was pink, whole, and steady.
 
-"Obviously," I muttered, walking over to the desk. "Soup is the great unifier. Who knew?"
+He set his quill down with a precise *click*. "Aric would have... he would have found the lack of a calculator distressing. But I suppose the 'feeling' of the pressure is a variable we must now account for in the new curriculum."
 
-I leaned against the edge of the desk, my hip brushing his shoulder. A month ago, this level of proximity would have triggered a somatic feedback loop that could have leveled a wing of the building. Now, it just felt like grounding. I reached out, my fingers tracing the edge of the map he was studying. My touch was a flicker of kinetic warmth; his response was a steadying, cool pulse.
+The mention of the name hung in the air, a soft, aching weight.
 
-"You’re working too hard," I said. "The Ministry is practically paralyzed. Malchor is halfway to the Capital, probably still trying to explain to the Emperor why his 'Correction Clause' melted in his hands. We have time."
+Mira turned from the window, her crimson robes—now edged with silver embroidery—sweeping across the floor. She walked to the desk and leaned against the edge of it, her hip brushing Dorian’s shoulder. A month ago, this level of proximity would have triggered a somatic feedback loop that would have leveled the room. Now, it just felt like grounding. A low-frequency hum of winter mint and ancient parchment met her own scent of dry cedar.
 
-Dorian finally set the quill down. He looked at me, his blue eyes no longer glacial, but reflecting the grey light of the window. "The paralysis of the Throne is... suboptimal for long-term provincial stability, Mira. But you are correct. The immediate threat has transitioned from 'existential' to 'bureaucratic.' A situation requiring... significantly less of my undivided attention."
+"The memorial is in an hour," she said, her voice dropping.
 
-He reached out, his hand covering mine on the desk. His skin was cool, but the blood beneath was warm—a Paradox byproduct that still surprised me every time we touched. "We have the memorial service tonight."
+Dorian’s hand moved, his fingers brushing against hers on the desktop. His skin was no longer a shock of absolute zero; it was a cool, steadying sanity. "The monument is prepared. The obsidian and the marble have bonded without the need for an external adhesive. The resonance of the stone is... extraordinary."
 
-The lightness in my chest curdled. "I know."
+Mira looked at his hand, then at the empty space on the wall where the old, segregated House maps used to hang. In their place was a single, unified chart of the Solas-Pyre Academy. There were no borders. Only ley-lines.
 
-"Kaelen’s legacy is not a ledger-item, Mira," Dorian said softly, his voice losing its analytical edge. "He is the reason the sky did not break."
+"I still wait for him to kick the door open," Mira whispered, looking at the scorched patch on the rug where Kaelen used to stand during his morning briefings. "I keep expecting him to tell me I’m being 'insistently impulsive' or that the Ministry is sending another audit. Past and rot, Dorian... I keep wanting to show him the ledger. To show him that we didn't just stop the Starfall. We grew something out of it."
 
-I looked away, staring at a small scorch mark on the corner of the rug. "I know that too. It’s just... past and rot, Dorian. I still wait for him to kick the door open and tell me I’m being 'insufficiently cautious' with my mana-expenditure. I keep wanting to show him the ledger. To show him that the schools didn't just merge. They survived."
+Dorian stood up, moving with a grace that was no longer a shield, but a choice. He didn't offer a Spire-born aphorism about the necessity of loss. Instead, he simply reached out and tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.
 
-Dorian stood up, moving with a grace that was no longer a shield, but a choice. He didn't say *I think it will be okay.* He didn't have the vocabulary for platitudes. Instead, he simply stood with me in the silence, letting his presence act as the anchor my fire needed.
+"Kaelen knew the cost," Dorian said, his blue eyes no longer glacial, but reflecting the soft grey light of the sanctum. "The evidence suggests he would have found this... 'extraordinary' silence to be worth the price of his own chair. Shall we go down? The students are waiting."
 
 ***
 
-The courtyard of the Warden’s Reach was packed. 
+The courtyard of the Solas-Pyre Academy was a sea of grey.
 
-It was the first time the entire student body had gathered since the stabilization. The crimson of the Pyre and the sapphire of the Spire had begun to bleed together; many students were wearing "Grey tunics," a self-initiated uniform that favored utility over tradition. 
+The crimson of the Pyre and the sapphire of the Spire had bled together over the last four weeks; many students had taken to dyeing their robes in the vats of the lower forges, creating a charcoal-grey uniform that favored utility over tradition. They stood in a massive, silent circle around the new monument—a jagged spire of obsidian wrapped in a spiraling coil of white marble that seemed to grow out of the very bedrock of the volcano.
 
-In the center of the courtyard, where the Great Hearth and the Crystalline Font had once competed for dominance, stood a new monument. It was a jagged spire of obsidian, wrapped in a coil of white marble. It didn't pulse with fire or glow with frost. It shimmered with the mercury-grey resonance of the starfall.
+It didn't pulse with fire or glow with frost. It shimmered with a mercury-grey resonance that made the air feel thick and stable.
 
-Kaelen’s name was the only one carved into the base. *The Architect of the Paradox.*
+Kaelen’s name was the first one Mira saw, carved in deep, unadorned letters at the base. Beneath it, smaller but no less clear, was Aric’s.
 
-I stood at the foot of the monument, my throat tight. Dorian stood half a step behind me, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. The 15-foot limit was a ghost of the past, but we hadn't quite learned how to exist further apart than that. Not yet.
+Mira stepped to the edge of the monument. She felt the five hundred students watching her, their auras no longer clashing like broken glass, but humming in a tentative, unified chord. She took a breath, the air smelling of the rain she had sensed earlier—a Spire-born weather pattern finally reaching the dry Reach.
 
-"He hated long speeches," I said to the gathered students, my voice carrying through the courtyard without the need for a kinetic boost. The air was so stable now it felt like a conductor. "He hated bureaucracy, and he hated the idea that magic had to be 'pure' to be powerful. He spent his life guarding a bridge that separated two worlds, and in the end, he decided the bridge was more important than the lands it connected."
+"We were told for three hundred years that fire and ice were a tragedy waiting to happen," Mira began, her voice carrying through the courtyard without the need for a kinetic boost. The grey light made her amber eyes look like glowing coals. "We were told that the Starfall was a disaster that would scour us from the earth. But the men whose names are on this stone didn't see a disaster. They saw a bridge. They stayed on that bridge until we were strong enough to cross it."
 
-I looked at Aric and Elara, standing at the front of the crowd. They were holding hands—a Pyre-born boy and a Spire-born girl, their auras humming in a perfect, unconscious harmony. 
+She looked at the students. In the front row, she saw Elara. The girl wasn't crying; she stood with her chin tilted up, her charcoal robes marked with the silver insignia of the First Warden. Beside her stood a group of younger initiates who had been during the "Soup and Blizzard" brawl only a month before. Now, they were sharing a single, heavy wool blanket against the mountain chill.
 
-"We didn't win a war," I continued. "We survived a transition. Because Kaelen stayed on that bridge long enough for us to realize that fire and ice aren't enemies. They're just the two breaths of the same world."
+"The Grey Era isn't a peace treaty," Mira continued, her voice cracking for a split second before she forged it back together. "It’s an evolution. We are the first generation that doesn't have to choose between burning out or freezing over. We are the ones who get to stay warm."
 
-I took a handful of white ash—the remains of the last 'Pure' Pyre fire—and scattered it at the base of the obsidian. Dorian stepped forward, a single shard of Ever-Frost in his hand. He placed it atop the ash. 
+She stepped back, and Dorian stepped forward. He didn't have his hands behind his back in the rigid posture of a Spire Master. He stood with his feet planted, his renewed right hand held out toward the stone.
 
-As the cold met the residual heat, a small wisp of steam rose. It didn't vanish. It lingered, glowing with a soft, neutral light that mirrored the sky.
+"The evidence suggests," Dorian said, and Mira saw a ripple of affectionate recognition pass through the Spire-born students at the familiar opening, "that the laws of magic have been fundamentally rewritten. But the laws of memory remain unchanged. We will maintain this monument as the primary anchor of our curriculum. Because without the cost, the equilibrium is meaningless."
 
-"The evidence suggests," Dorian said, his voice ringing out with a clarity that made several Spire masters flinch, "that Kaelen was the only one among us with the foresight to recognize that the Starfall was not a disaster to be averted, but an evolution to be embraced. We are his curriculum now."
+Dorian reached into a pouch at his belt and drew out a handful of pure, white ash from the Pyre’s Great Hearth. Mira reached into hers and produced a single, unmelting shard of Ever-Frost from the Spire’s deepest vault.
 
-He turned to me then. In that moment, amidst the students and the legacy of his ancestors, Dorian Solas looked... extraordinary. Not because of his power, but because of his peace. 
+Together, they placed the elements into the basin at the monument’s base.
+
+As the ash met the ice, there was no hiss of steam, no violent reaction. There was only a soft, glowing mist that rose up to join the Grey light of the sky.
 
 ***
 
-SCENE A: Interiority beat deepening the aftermath
+The Chancellor’s table in the dining hall was no longer a segregated dais. It was a long, simple board of cedarwood, and tonight, it was crowded.
+
+Elara sat to Mira’s left, her medic’s kit resting on the floor by her boots. She spent the meal listening to Aric’s younger brother—a boy with the same frantic, kinetic energy—explain how he had accidental-fused a metal fork to a porcelain plate during lunch.
+
+"It’s a tension-bleed," Elara explained, her voice steady and clinical, though Mira saw the way she didn't look away from the boy's face. "You were trying to hold the heat in the fork while the Spire-girl across from you was cooling the air. You created a localized Paradox. Next time, don't fight her cold. Narrative the pressure into the center of the plate. Like this."
+
+Elara reached out, and with a casual flick of her wrist, she drew a line of mercury-grey light across the table. It wasn't fire. It wasn't ice. It was a perfect, stable hum of power.
+
+Mira watched her, a lump forming in her throat. "She’s a natural," Mira whispered to Dorian.
+
+"She is a Warden," Dorian corrected softly, his eyes on the empty chair at the end of the table.
+
+That was the "Aric Pyre Chair." It was a high-backed seat made of dark iron and silver-wood, and it was the only chair in the hall that remained empty. For the next year, it would stay that way—a reminder of the seat that should have been filled by the boy who had died to prove the Paradox could hold.
+
+But then, Mira saw him.
+
+A quiet first-year from the Northern Spire was sitting three tables down. He was a small, pale boy who looked like he had been born in a library. He was currently holding a heavy iron mug of hot cider. Mira watched as he absent-mindedly traced the rim of the mug. He wasn't reciting an equation. He wasn't stoking a flame. But as his finger moved, the cider began to swirl, and a tiny, perfectly formed snowflake of fire—a flickering, glowing amber crystal—floated to the surface.
+
+The boy blinked, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then took a sip of the cider, snowflake and all. He hadn't been taught how to do that. The Grey Arcanum curriculum wouldn't reach that level for another three months.
+
+He had simply... existed.
+
+Elara, from her position at the high table, had seen it, too. She stood in the doorway as she prepared to head to the infirmary for her night shift. She caught Mira’s eye and gave a small, resolute nod. It wasn't a happy smile; it was a 'good, that's right' smile. The look of a woman who knew the foundation was solid.
+
+Elara turned and vanished into the shadows of the corridor, leaving the founders to their students.
+
+***
+
+SCENE A:
 
 The weight of the afternoon sun—a soft, muted gold—felt different on my skin these days. It didn't burn; it invited. As the students began to disperse from the courtyard, their voices blurring into a hum of speculation and tentative laughter, I remained anchored to the spot. The obsidian of the memorial was still warm from the touch of my hand, but it was a cooling warmth, a finality that I hadn't quite processed until this exact second.
 
 I felt a ghost of a sensation in my solar plexus, a phantom tug where the tether used to live. It was a conditioned response, a somatic scar. For months, my entire biological existence had been predicated on the distance between my heart and Dorian’s. If he moved, I adjusted. If I moved, he trailed. We had been two panicked animals yoked together in a storm. Now, standing in the stillness of the afternoon, the absence of that frantic pressure felt like a new kind of vertigo.
 
-I looked down at my hands. The thermal bruising was almost gone, replaced by a light, silvery tracery of lines that only appeared when I drew on the Grey resonance. It wasn't a mark of damage; it was a blueprint. 
-
-Everything about the Sanctum, about the Reach, about the very air I breathed had changed its fundamental frequency. I used to think of my magic as a weapon—a kiln I had to keep stoked to keep the dark at bay. Now, the fire didn't feel like a resource I had to hoard. It felt like a conversation I was having with the world around me. I could feel the dormant heat in the stones of the courtyard, the latent potential in the wind. I didn't need to dominate the elements anymore because I was finally, for the first time in my life, at peace with them.
+I looked down at my hands. The thermal bruising was almost gone, replaced by a light, silvery tracery of lines that only appeared when I drew on the Grey resonance. It wasn't a mark of damage; it was a blueprint. Everything about the Sanctum, about the Reach, about the very air I breathed had changed its fundamental frequency. I used to think of my magic as a weapon—a kiln I had to keep stoked to keep the dark at bay. Now, the fire didn't feel like a resource I had to hoard. It felt like a conversation I was having with the world around me. I could feel the dormant heat in the stones of the courtyard, the latent potential in the wind. I didn't need to dominate the elements anymore because I was finally, for the first time in my life, at peace with them.
 
 I felt Dorian’s presence shift behind me. He didn't step closer, but I felt the intention of his movement in the resonance. He was watching me navigate the silence. He knew exactly what the vertigo felt like because he was feeling it, too—the terrifying, wonderful freedom of a mind no longer required to calculate the distance to the nearest anchor. We were the anchors now. Not because of a decree, and not because of a curse, but because we had looked into the center of the Starfall and decided that the view was better when shared.
 
 ***
 
-SCENE B: Dialogue exchange with voice-distinct characters
+SCENE B:
 
-I felt a sudden, sharp spike of kinetic energy approaching from the East Portico. I didn't need to turn to know it was Aric; the boy radiated enthusiasm like a leaky radiator. Elara was with him, her presence acting as the cooling lattice that kept him from literally vibrating out of his boots.
+I felt a sudden, sharp spike of kinetic energy approaching from the East Portico. I didn't need to turn to know it was Aric’s younger brother again; the boy radiated enthusiasm like a leaky radiator. Elara was with him, her presence acting as the cooling lattice that kept him from literally vibrating out of his boots.
 
-"Chancellors!" Aric called out, his voice echoing off the basalt walls. "The Spire masters are... well, they aren't exactly complaining, but they're making that face. The one where they look like they've swallowed an icicle."
+"Chancellors!" the boy called out, his voice echoing off the basalt walls. "The Spire masters are... well, they aren't exactly complaining, but they're making that face. The one where they look like they've swallowed an icicle."
 
-Dorian turned, his eyebrow arching in that way that usually preceded a lecture on administrative decorum. "The 'icicle' expression is generally reserved for breaches of archival protocol, Warden Aric. What exactly have you done to the library?"
+Dorian turned, his eyebrow arching in that way that usually preceded a lecture on administrative decorum. "The 'icicle' expression is generally reserved for breaches of archival protocol, initiate. What exactly have you done to the library?"
 
-Elara stepped forward, smoothing the front of her grey tunic. Her voice was precise, though I saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "We didn't breach the archives, Chancellor Solas. However, Aric suggested that the history of the Fifth Era would be more engaging if we used a localized thermal projection to highlight the volcanic migrations. The Spire librarians believe that introducing 'intentional heat' to a room full of ancient vellum is... how did they put it?"
+Elara stepped forward, smoothing the front of her grey tunic. Her voice was precise, though I saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "We didn't breach the archives, Chancellor Solas. However, he suggested that the history of the Fifth Era would be more engaging if we used a localized thermal projection to highlight the volcanic migrations. The Spire librarians believe that introducing 'intentional heat' to a room full of ancient vellum is... how did they put it?"
 
-"A situation requiring immediate and forceful psychological intervention," Aric supplied helpfully.
+"A situation requiring immediate and forceful psychological intervention," the boy supplied helpfully.
 
 "Obviously," I muttered, crossing my arms. "Heaven forbid history actually looks like it happened. Stars' sake, Dorian, your faculty would find a way to make a dragon-flight look like a ledger entry."
 
 Dorian sighed, though I felt the warmth of his amusement through the bond. "The concern regarding the vellum is... not entirely without merit, Mira. However, the evidence suggests that the library has survived the Fifth Era before. I suspect it can survive a well-intentioned projection."
 
-He looked at the two students—the first of the Grey-born. "Continue the curriculum, Wardens. But perhaps consider using a low-temperature luminescence for the volcanic flows next time. It might... decrease the frequency of icicles."
+He looked at the boy—the future of the Grey-born. "Continue the curriculum, initiate. But perhaps consider using a low-temperature luminescence for the volcanic flows next time. It might... decrease the frequency of icicles."
 
-Aric beamed, his hand instinctively finding Elara’s. "Yes, sir! We're headed to the meditation gardens next. Aric thinks we can use the thermal vents to create a... what did you call it? A steam-organ?"
+The boy beamed, his hand instinctively reaching for Elara’s sleeve. "Yes, sir! We're headed to the meditation gardens next. We think we can use the thermal vents to create a... what did you call it? A steam-organ?"
 
 "A multi-tonal atmospheric resonant chamber," Elara corrected him with a sigh.
 
-"Steam-organ," Aric insisted as they began to walk away. "It’s going to be extraordinary!"
+"Steam-organ," he insisted as they began to walk away. "It’s going to be extraordinary!"
 
 I watched them go, the red and blue of their old identities lost in the steady, grey light of the courtyard.
 
 ***
 
-SCENE C: Grounded transition showing the next 24 hours
+SCENE C:
 
-The evening transition was a slow, rhythmic affair. As the light faded from mercury to a deep, resonant indigo, the school shifted its weight. The Great Hall was filled with the clatter of dinner—a chaotic, loud, and thoroughly Pyre-style mess that the Spire students had apparently decided was 'efficient for morale.' 
+The evening transition was a slow, rhythmic affair. As the light faded from mercury to a deep, resonant indigo, the school shifted its weight. The Great Hall was filled with the clatter of dinner—a chaotic, loud, and thoroughly Pyre-style mess that the Spire students had apparently decided was 'efficient for morale.' Dorian and I didn't eat in the hall tonight. We stayed in the Sanctum, the door open to the sounds of the academy. He worked through the logistics of the Northern Tithes, his quill scratching a counterpoint to the distant laughter. I spent the evening in the secondary lab, helping three Spire weavers understand the kinetic 'kick' required to sustain a long-term stasis field.
 
-Dorian and I didn't eat in the hall. We stayed in the Sanctum, the door open to the sounds of the academy. He worked through the logistics of the Northern Tithes, his quill scratching a counterpoint to the distant laughter. I spent the evening in the secondary lab, helping three Spire weavers understand the kinetic 'kick' required to sustain a long-term stasis field. 
+It was late when I finally returned to the High Spire peak. The air was cool, smelling of the cedar-smoke from the lower levels. Dorian was already there, standing on the balcony that overlooked the Great Crevasse. He didn't have his tunic on; he was just in a thin shirt, looking out at the bridge. The bridge was a dark line in the moonlight, no longer a place of execution, but a landmark. I walked up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist. He leaned back into the contact, his hands covering mine. We didn't talk about the Ministry. We didn't talk about the wards. We just stood there, watching the stars—the real stars, appearing one by one as the grey aurora thinned for the night.
 
-It was late when I finally returned to our quarters. The air was cool, smelling of the cedar-smoke from the lower levels. Dorian was already there, standing on the balcony that overlooked the Great Crevasse. He didn't have his tunic on; he was just in a thin shirt, looking out at the bridge.
-
-The bridge was a dark line in the moonlight, no longer a place of execution, but a landmark. 
-
-I walked up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist. He leaned back into the contact, his hands covering mine. We didn't talk about the Ministry. We didn't talk about the wards. We just stood there, watching the stars—the real stars, appearing one by one as the grey aurora thinned for the night. 
-
-"Twenty-four hours," I whispered. "Only twenty-four more hours until the First Integrated Semester officially begins. We have eighty Spire students signed up for 'Introduction to Thermal Dynamics'."
+"Twenty-four hours," I whispered. "Only twenty-four more hours until the first integrated semester officially begins. We have eighty Spire students signed up for 'Introduction to Thermal Dynamics'."
 
 "And ninety Pyre students enrolled in 'The Logic of the Lattice'," Dorian said, his voice low and peaceful. "The evidence suggests that the library will, in fact, be on fire by Tuesday."
 
-"Obviously," I agreed, closing my eyes. 
-
-I felt his heart—slow, steady, and perfectly synchronized with mine. The tether wasn't a leash anymore. It was just the space between us—a space we occupied together.
+"Obviously," I agreed, closing my eyes. I felt his heart—slow, steady, and perfectly synchronized with mine. The tether wasn't a leash anymore. It was just the space between us—a space we occupied together.
 
 The last Starfall faded into the Grey Era's permanent, gentle light. Mira stood next to Dorian — not fifteen feet away, not within arm's reach — just next to him, at whatever distance felt right, which turned out to be exactly none at all.