The Ledger Cost
The Disturbance
June’s boots squeaked on the polished obsidian of the lower corridor the moment she stepped out of orientation. Twenty minutes since the gates had closed behind her. Six days and twenty-three hours until the trial week expired and Milo’s name was scrubbed from every record the city kept.
She pressed her palm against the coat lining where the torn ledger page sat folded into a tight square. The paper felt hot through the wool, like it knew how little time she had left to make it mean something.
A prefect badge glinted ahead—Cassian Varnholt, already moving toward her like he’d been waiting. Black uniform immaculate, silver trim catching the chandelier light. The same cold eyes that had tracked her across the courtyard ten minutes earlier. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.
“Scholarship arrival,” he said, voice low enough that only she would hear. “You’re late for the dormitory assignment.”
“I was directed here.” June kept her chin level. “Prefect oversight?”
“Routine check.” He stepped closer. Close enough she could smell cedar and ink on him. “New students sometimes forget protocol. Especially ones carrying… unusual baggage.”
Her pulse kicked against the hidden page. He couldn’t know. Not yet. But the way his gaze flicked to her coat pocket made the corridor feel ten degrees colder.
Before she could answer, a second-year runner skidded around the corner, breathless. “Prefect Varnholt—Archivist Merritt needs you in the Vault annex. Immediate.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened a fraction. “Tell him I’m occupied.”
“The summons is board-signed, sir. Councilor Elias requires your presence.”
For one heartbeat Cassian’s mask slipped—just a flicker of something raw and furious. Then it was gone. He looked back at June.
“Stay out of restricted corridors,” he said. “The academy doesn’t forgive trespass lightly.”
He turned on his heel and left, robes snapping like a warning shot.
June exhaled through her teeth. Her fingers found the torn page again, tracing the sharp edge through fabric. The Varnholt signature stared up at her in memory: bold, dated three weeks ago, a transfer entry that should never have existed if Milo had truly stolen the ledger yesterday.
Someone had planted the book on him. Someone had torn this page first—proof of the real theft—and left just enough to point the blame exactly where they wanted it.
She needed the archive. Needed to match the entry number inked on the fragment to the full ledger record before anyone noticed the page was missing. Before Cassian decided to search her.
The runner had said Vault annex.
That meant the restricted wing. The one Cassian had just been summoned away from.
June glanced at the brass wall clock. Four minutes since he’d left. The summons would keep him occupied at least twenty.
She moved.
The side stair was unmarked, meant for staff. She took it two steps at a time, heart hammering against her ribs
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