Vector seemed rather amused by the twist of conversation, but she didn’t pry any further. The two friends had reached the end of the hallway where a double-door was waiting. It had a bar to push open, unlike the sliding classroom doors, which meant it led outside. Vector pushed open the door. A blast of chilly breeze hit, not unbearably cold, but colder than expected of the given month. Vector pulled at her jacket. Verse was no stranger to cold; Valoria was an orb of ice. The door opened to a walkway, a bridge of sorts to connect the buildings of the Academy, suspended high in the air. The entire campus was built on a hill. Below, one side featured a wide, round courtyard speckled with students; the other side was nothing but a steep cliff, descending to a crystal lake far below. It reflected a gray sky obscured by a sheet of clouds. Clean water was a marvel in the heart of Falset city; the lake enticed many younger and dumber students to push their friends in, which proved a legitimate problem last year given that half the galaxy’s population never learned to swim.

A noticeable mist had settled on the school grounds. Past the lake, the skyline of a towering metropolis flickered faintly through the silvery horizon.

“East Reserve?” Verse asked in confirmation.

“Do we ever go anywhere else?”

Verse exhaled in amusement. They walked slowly across the bridge. East Reserve was a fair eighty-degrees away on the circle. It was almost certainly faster to cut across the courtyard, although both Verse and Vector were content to take the detour. The walkway was always vacant, as it was this day. It was much quieter than the classroom or the hallway; the only sound was the distant static of the grass courtyard. Lining the courtyard were various buildings arranged in a circle. Some were for academics, like the one they had emerged from, and some were facilities with specialized equipment for training. At the center of the yard was a tower: a library at the lowest level with a meeting hall stacked above, and the school’s main administrative offices at the top of all.

And underneath, supposedly, tunnels. The central tower basement was the feature of many academy legends. Some students would insist on having seen the tunnels, though it was difficult to gauge the validity of such claims. The rumored network of underground tunnels was not definite. But there was definitely a locked basement to the tower, and there were definitely locked doors of similar mystery speckled throughout the campus circle.

It was b16:12 when they finally reached the building. Beyond the sliding doors was a complex structure, sprawling with various training grounds across different halls. Every Friday was dedicated to physical training in the East Reserve. Even after four years, Verse had only explored about half of it. They dedicated less time to training than Vector or Ace. They didn’t plan on joining the Legion Force post-graduation. Although, they didn’t really have any plans at all. It was quiet inside, only perturbed by the soft hum of fluorescents, and they were entirely alone save for a single receptionist behind a front desk. The opening foyer split to three paths; Verse and Vector started down the leftmost. The receptionist waved as they passed by. “Good luck tomorrow,” she said with a smile. Verse gave a slight wave back. Somehow, even the academy staff were more responsible than the students.

“Did you remember we were testing tomorrow?” Verse asked quietly once they left the room.

Vector exhaled in amusement. “I never wrote it down in the first place.”

They passed through a doorway and came into a narrow hall, something like a small locker room before the training ground. The left and right walls were each adorned with a line of lockers. 2-B shared the room with Dr. Lefe’s class 2-A. The B-Team, Ace had sometimes called 2-B, although their class was, frankly, stacked with talent. Most of SFA was talented; it was a rather prestigious academy, sponsored by the military of the Legion Force themselves.

Vector found her personal locker at the end of the hall. Verse did the same, punching in a combination. It was mostly empty, occupied only by a couple of hair ties and a pair of shoes. Verse set their bag on the bench in front of the locker, sitting down beside it. The shoes were not ordinary running shoes but rather something like skates or roller blades, equipped on the bottom with wheels. They fitted over Verse’s boots. Verse stood on the skates, balancing carefully as they pulled their hair out of their face with a hair tie. Vector had similarly strapped on her blade-skates. Under the left one, she’d fastened a compression brace; she’d worn it since spraining her ankle in a crash two weeks ago.

Together, Verse and Vector rolled out to the training ground. It was a massive space, a gymnasium of sorts built like a track or skating rink in a long ellipse. On the far wall was a powered-off screen. Most Friday classes were held there, although the room had already been prepared for the following day’s Aptitude test. A low wall blocked in a track around the perimeter, and from the distant ceiling hung round targets. Against the wall beside the locker-hall was a large sliding door, which was open to reveal a shallow closet mounted with an assortment of poles and blades they used in training. At the end was a rack meant to store rifles. Except, the rack was empty. The guns must have been taken in preparation for the upcoming test. That promptly ended their last-minute training plan.

Vector stared at the empty rack blankly. “Wanna race?” she suggested.

Verse narrowed their eyes and retorted, “You’re the fastest person in the whole school.”

“I haven’t been top speed since the incident,” Vector said seriously, and Verse couldn’t quite tell if it was a joke. She rolled up to the track, apparently set on the race proposal.

Verse reluctantly followed. “You race Mali every Friday and still always win.”

“It’s fight-or-flight instinct. He might actually snap me in half if he catches me. Ready?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to this, but yes.”

Then, without any further warning, Vector shot off. With a sigh, Verse chased after her. The brace was some twisted joke. She was halfway down the first straight before Verse even stepped onto the track. They almost immediately abandoned any attempt at “winning.”

There was something relaxing about speeding some twenty miles-per-hour down the track. It was easy to block out the static of the outside world in such a state. The hardwood floor tiles rumbled beneath their wheels satisfyingly. The cold air whipped across their face, tumbled through their curls. Verse pushed a little faster, welcoming the burn that filled their legs as a pleasant change after hours of sitting at a desk.

Verse came upon the turn. They cautiously hugged the inner edge of the track, brushing a hand along the wall. Vector had flown around it haphazardly a while ago. She was nearly back to the start by the time Verse made it to the second straight. They laughed inwardly. Vector was only competing with herself. She crossed the line and stopped, leaning against the wall to watch Verse. Verse decelerated along the straight with heavy breaths. Vector didn’t even seem all that tired. Saying nothing, she started again, slower, as Verse came into the turn. Side-by-side once more, the two casually rolled around the turn into a second lap. Verse’s breathing evened out.

Then Vector spoke. “Are you doing alright, Verse?” she asked.

“Mm? I’m fine.”

The question was a formality. Vector knew better than to expect any less assuring of an answer. This time, though, it was a rather truthful answer.

“It seems like everyone has been,” Vector mused aloud, “especially tense as of late. Or maybe just Spade and Ace.”

Verse considered the thought. “Yeah, I guess Spade boasted about his family name less than usual today,” they agreed. “I haven’t talked to Ace much, either.”

“He’s busy with his project.”

“Hasn’t he been at it for four years?”

Vector sighed. “Ten, actually. The Institute turned him into this detective disaster a while ago.”

They reached the turn. Mind drifting, Verse changed the subject. “What was that word you said in class? The one that rhymed with ‘perigon.’”

She let out a dry laugh. “What the hell are you writing that uses the word ‘perigon?’ It’s called a circle.” A pause. “Panopticon,” she said finally.

Panopticon. Perfectly ostentatious. Verse committed the word to memory.

It was silent again for the remainder of the lap. Vector suddenly stopped at the turn into the start, and Verse hastily stepped on their heels to brake. “Race again?” she offered with the slightest smirk.

Verse sighed, this time saying nothing. Vector took off down the track.