The next few days blurred into a relentless cycle of studying by day and training by night. Ezra pushed himself to the edge—his mind crammed with theory, his body sore from pushing the limits of his resonance. Sleep became a distant luxury. Stress, a permanent roommate.
He didn't complain.
He didn't have the time to.
Finals were tomorrow.
And the Ember Games were just two days away.
The academy grounds had grown quiet—eerie, almost. Gone was the usual chatter and chaos. Instead, the air thrummed with silent pressure. Every student was locked into their own world of last-minute preparation. Classes had been paused, giving them room to sharpen their skills, and tension hung thick across Black Spire like a storm cloud waiting to break.
Ezra exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair as he stretched. Every muscle ached. His desk was a battlefield of open books—combat strategy, arcane theory, survival drills, political histories.
He stared blankly at the mess in front of him.
"I've studied enough," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Five minutes. Just a nap…"
Ezra, in fact, did not take a nap for five minutes.
He slept the entire day.
The warmth of sunlight on his face was the first thing he registered. Then came the slow, creeping realization that something was off. Too bright. Too quiet.
His eyes cracked open.
"…Shit."
Panic hit like a freight train.
He shot upright, chair crashing to the floor, books and papers exploding across the room. No time to clean up. No time to think.
His finals. He had overslept through the only thing standing between him and disqualification.
Ezra bolted out the door, heart in his throat.
The hallways blurred as he sprinted, his boots echoing off the polished floors. Desperation took over instinctively—light flared at his heels as he activated Dawnstride, the world around him smearing into streaks of motion as he zipped through the corridors like a phantom.
By the time he reached the examination hall, breathless and wild-eyed, the professors were already beginning the session.
Without missing a beat, Ezra slammed the brakes, skidding to a walk and adjusting his jacket, casually smoothing his hair like nothing was wrong.
He strode into the room with all the grace of someone who hadn't just been one second from academic ruin.
"Sorry," he muttered under his breath, slipping into his seat.
Professor Coraline's narrowed eyes followed him all the way down the row.
He avoided them.
The paper landed in front of him.
Ezra stared at it for a second, expecting a wave of doom… but instead, the answers came easily. Muscle memory kicked in, and his pen started moving before he could second-guess it. Line after line flowed as his earlier panic slowly faded into focus.
Before he knew it, he was already at the last question.
With a final stretch of his fingers, Ezra double-checked his answers, stood, and turned in the exam.
He exhaled sharply. That was… better than expected.
As he reached the doors, another figure arrived at the same moment—tall, sharp, and annoyingly composed.
Cassian.
The two of them stepped out side by side.