The second parcel from home arrived with a warning written across the top. DO NOT LET HARPER EAT ALL OF THESE. Harper read it upside down from across the table.

"Slander."

Jasper pulled the parcel closer.

"You ate four lamingtons last time."

"You had six."

"There were twelve."

"Ava had two."

Ava looked up from her homework.

"I was not part of this investigation."

The package contained lamingtons, a packet of his favourite crackers, two new pencils, a photograph of his parents standing beside the lemon tree in their backyard, and a letter from his mother that ran for three pages. His father's contribution was written sideways along the margin. YOUR MOTHER HAS DISCOVERED THAT LETTERS CAN CONTAIN QUESTIONS. GOOD LUCK. Jasper smiled. Homesickness arrived without warning. Not huge.

The first page asked about food. The second asked about sleep, laundry, teachers, magic, Harper, Ava, whether his shoes still fitted and what exactly he meant when he had written the sea did something weird in class but nobody got hurt. The third page was mostly his mum reminding herself not to worry in writing. Jasper read that page twice. For a moment Room Fourteen vanished around him. He could picture their kitchen. The fridge. The crab magnet. The glass door to the backyard. His dad putting too much tea in the pot. Not enough to make him want to leave. Just a physical ache behind his ribs. Harper stopped reaching toward the parcel.

"You okay?"

Jasper folded the letter.

"Yeah."

She waited.

"Miss home."

Harper nodded. No joke. Ava closed her book.

"My dad sends weather updates."

Jasper looked at her.

"Why?"

"He thinks I enjoy them."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Harper stared.

"Of course you do."

Ava ignored her and pulled a postcard from the shelf. On the front was a photo of Perth under a ridiculous orange sunset. On the back, in neat handwriting, were the week's temperatures. Harper laughed so hard she fell sideways onto Bag Bed. Ava said, "You asked."

Harper's own mother wrote shorter letters, full of family gossip and updates from her little brother. The most recent included a drawing of Harper with enormous hair and stick arms. She had pinned it above her bed.

"He made me look like a spider."

"You kept it," Jasper said.

"Evidence."

"Of what?"

"Crimes."

The parcel improved the evening. Jasper answered his mother's sea question carefully. He wrote that the Headmaster knew there had been unusual sea events before but did not know exactly what caused them. He wrote that nobody thought Jasper was sick or in trouble. He did not mention the lower door opening by itself. Then he stared at the omission. His mother had asked him to tell her if something strange happened. He added it. The lower dock door also opened by itself once even though the lock was on. We did not go through it. The Headmaster came to our room later and explained there was an accident a long time ago because a student thought they could control unusual sea magic. He told us not to test anything and we aren't. He read it back. That was the truth. Mostly. No ranking. No marks announced publicly. No punishment for failure.

He hoped mostly would be enough. The next morning first-years began their first practical assessment. It was not an exam. Professor Elowen insisted on that. Harper called it an exam anyway. Each student had to complete four basic tasks in the Foundations room. Move a cloth a set distance. Lift a bead and lower it safely. Maintain a simple resistance field against three soft impacts. Warm a cup of water by a specified amount. That did not prevent half the year from treating it like the world championship. Mia went first and completed everything without incident. Soren forgot to lower his bead because he was watching another student's technique and had to repeat the task. She stared at him.

A boy named Theo created such a strong resistance field that the first beanbag bounced backward and hit Professor Ward in the knee. Theo said, "Sorry." Ward said, "Technically effective." Harper nearly died laughing. Good. The bead lifted. Held. Lowered. Good. Jasper's stomach dropped.

When Jasper's turn came, his hands were sweating. He knew all four exercises. He had done them dozens of times. That somehow made it worse. The cloth moved exactly one centimetre. The first beanbag struck his resistance field and rolled sideways. The second pushed through and bumped his chest. Professor Ward said only, "Reset." He breathed. Third beanbag. Deflected.

"Again on the failed one."

The second was repeated. This time Jasper felt the field before he tried to force it. The beanbag bounced away. Good. Then water. Five degrees. Jasper held his hands around the cup without touching. He could feel his magic as a pressure now. Not a separate thing. More like the instant before moving a muscle. The strip rose. Three. Four. Five. Stop. It held. Professor Elowen nodded.

"Well done."

Relief hit him so hard he almost laughed. Harper completed the first three tasks easily. Then water. Her face became serious. Ava leaned forward. Jasper held his breath. The strip rose. Three. Four. Five. Stopped. Harper stared. Professor Ward said, "Good." Harper walked back to the bench trying to look normal. Jasper whispered, "You did it."

"Obviously."

Her ears had gone pink. Ava's assessment was almost painfully neat. She moved the cloth exactly one centimetre. The bead rose to the required height and did not wobble. Her field deflected every beanbag at nearly the same angle. The water stopped at five. Then Professor Elowen asked her to repeat the cloth exercise because she had started moving it before the instruction was fully given. Ava looked horrified. Harper whispered, "Justice." After lunch they received no grades. Only individual notes. Jasper's said: Good emerging control. Tendency to wait for certainty before acting. Continue practising reset after failure. Harper's said:

Strong natural output. Major improvement in stopping. Remember that restraint is a skill, not a reduction. Ava's said: Excellent precision. Allow room for adjustment. Correct technique is not the same as perfect prediction. Harper read Ava's note over her shoulder.

"That's teacher for stop being Ava."

"It is not."

Jasper looked at his own. Tendency to wait for certainty before acting. He thought about the sea. He thought about Thorne saying records were not understanding. Maybe waiting for certainty was not always a weakness. Maybe it depended what you did while you waited. That night the package from home sat open on Bag Bed. There were three lamingtons left. Jasper put one beside Ava. One beside Harper. Kept one. Harper looked suspicious.

"You're sharing?"

"Mum said not to let you eat all of them."

"I am only eating one."

"Exactly."

Ava raised hers.

"Statistically successful parental intervention."

Harper threw a napkin at her. Jasper laughed. Outside, the sea moved in long autumn lines beneath a grey sky. For once, it did nothing strange at all.