Summer ended slowly. The mornings cooled first. Then the afternoon wind sharpened. By the beginning of autumn, Room Fourteen's western window spent more time shut than open, and Bag Bed had acquired two extra blankets because Harper said they might need them in an emergency. Ava asked what kind of emergency required unused blankets but not the actual beds. Harper said a cold one. Jasper loved the rain. Mostly.

School changed with the weather. Ocean Studies moved indoors on rough days. The courtyard handball games became more competitive because running kept everyone warm. Students discovered which corridors leaked during heavy rain and arranged buckets before teachers could. At home, winter storms had always meant staying inside near windows. At Tidefall, weather became part of the building. Wind hummed through old stone. Rain rattled against sea-facing glass. Waves struck the cliff hard enough that Jasper sometimes felt them through the floor. The presence did not return strongly. That made it easier to live. The lower door was replaced. A new silver ward plate appeared beside it. Jasper walked past without stopping. The trio's first proper argument happened because of a handball. Harper said it was not an argument. Ava said volume did not determine category.

Jasper said they were both annoying. That stopped Harper.

That made them unite against him, which solved it. The actual problem began after dinner when Harper invited two other first-years to Room Fourteen without asking. Mia brought a deck of cards. Soren brought a book because Soren always brought a book. Ava had planned to use the desk for a Foundations assignment. Harper had not known this. Ava believed she should have asked. Harper believed rooms were for people. Ava believed rooms were also for work. Harper believed work was what study rooms were for. Ava believed friendship did not mean everyone got to decide what happened in shared space without checking. Mia said, "We can go." Harper immediately said, "No."

Then looked at Ava.

"Sorry. Should I have asked?"

Ava blinked. The argument vanished so quickly it almost looked disappointed.

"Yes."

"Okay. Sorry."

Ava moved her books to one end of the desk.

"You can stay."

Mia sat down. Soren had never moved. Jasper learned another thing about his friends. Harper could apologise fast when she understood the problem. Ava could let go fast when she believed the apology. He wondered what his own annoying thing was. He did not ask. He was not ready. They played cards until Mae told them quiet hour had begun. After Mia and Soren left, rain began against the western windows. Harper switched off the main lamp.

"Storm watching."

Ava said, "We have school tomorrow."

"Storm watching quietly."

They sat on Bag Bed together because it had the best angle toward the western window. Dark cloud covered the sea. Distant lightning flashed low over the horizon. No thunder reached them yet. Jasper watched waves appear in white lines and vanish.

"Do you miss home?" Ava asked suddenly.

Harper answered first.

"Sometimes."

Jasper looked at her. She shrugged.

"What?"

"I thought you'd say no."

"Why?"

"You act like you've lived here forever."

Harper picked at a loose thread on the blanket.

"My little brother keeps sending me drawings where I look like a potato."

"Maybe that's accurate," Ava said.

Harper shoved her. Ava smiled.

"I miss my room," Ava admitted. "It is quieter."

"Rude."

"I didn't say better."

They looked at Jasper.

"Yeah," he said. "I miss home."

The next lightning flash illuminated the cliff. For one instant the sea below was white. Jasper's chest tightened. He sat straighter. Harper noticed.

"It?"

"Maybe."

Ava reached for the notebook, then stopped herself. Jasper appreciated that. The pressure deepened. Not close. Not asking. The sense of something vast turning in deep water. Lightning flashed again. This time Jasper caught an impression. Not a thought. Cold pressure. Rock. A long underwater slope. Then nothing. He blinked.

"What?" Ava asked.

"I saw... something."

"With your eyes?"

"No."

Harper moved closer.

"Like the dream?"

Jasper nodded. He described the slope. Ava finally took the notebook.

"Could be memory."

"Whose?"

"I don't know."

Harper looked at the sea.

"Could be nothing."

Jasper was grateful for that too. They sat another ten minutes. The storm moved south. Rain softened. The pressure disappeared. Jasper expected the moment to feel important. Instead Harper yawned so widely her jaw clicked.

"Bed."

Ava stood.

"Finally."

Jasper returned to his own bed. The presence had given him no answer. Only an impression he could not use. That was beginning to feel less like failure. Maybe communication did not have to mean understanding immediately. Maybe some things were simply larger than seven-year-old words. He slept without dreaming.