Order interviews were still a week away when Professor Ward gave every first-year a sheet of Tidefall paper.

"Write a letter to the Order you think you want."

The room exploded with questions.

"Do they read it?"

"No."

"Does the Tide read it?"

"No."

"Does this affect placement?"

"No."

Harper raised her hand.

"What's the point?"

Ward smiled.

"Excellent. Write about that too."

The exercise was private. They could destroy the letter afterward. Keep it. Seal it until next year. Nobody would collect it. Jasper stared at the blank page. Across the room, Harper began immediately. Ava did not write for almost five minutes. That alone made the activity worthwhile. Jasper finally wrote: I think I want Brannor. Then stopped. Why? Because Harper probably did? Because the Order's idea of protection had followed him through half the year? Because Brannor students had worked the harbour during the storm? Because it felt like the answer people expected after everything? He crossed out the sentence. Started again. I do not know which Order I want. That felt more true. He wrote about the Sea without naming what it was. About the rescue course. The harbour. The garden. He folded it anyway. Harper finished first.

About people looking at him as though unusual magic automatically meant a direction. About wanting somewhere that would teach him to help without deciding other people's choices for them. About Harper telling him to stop watching every ledge for her. About Ava asking before writing personal observations. By the end, the letter did not mention an Order at all. She sat on her hands to stop herself asking what everyone else wrote. After two minutes she failed.

"Are we allowed to share voluntarily?"

Ward nodded.

"Voluntarily is doing important work in that sentence."

Harper looked at Jasper. He shook his head.

"No."

"Fine."

Ava surprised both of them.

"I'll share one line."

She read from her page.

"I want an Order that will not confuse caution with fear."

Harper looked at her.

"That's good."

Ava folded the letter quickly. Harper read hers.

"I want an Order that will teach me when running toward something is useful and when it is just running."

Jasper stared. Harper looked defensive.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You made the face."

"Good line."

She relaxed. Theo shared that he wanted an Order where questions were not treated as delays. Mia wanted one that expected her to lose sometimes without becoming less competitive. Benji did not know what he wanted and wrote that three times in increasingly large handwriting. Ward accepted all of it. At the end of the lesson, she placed a small metal bowl at the front.

"Anyone who wants to destroy their letter can do so here. No explanation."

A simple paper-breaking charm sat over the bowl. Pages placed inside separated harmlessly into soft fibres for reuse. Several students went forward. Others kept theirs. Harper folded hers into her pocket. Ava sealed hers. Jasper kept his too. Back in Room Fourteen, he put it in the history box without rereading it. One day, after Choosing, he might find it funny. Or embarrassing. Or accurate. For now it was simply proof of something he was learning to tolerate. He did not know. And the page could survive that. Harper noticed immediately. The first-years were allowed into Tidefall's maintenance workshop only because Mr Bell had hidden everything sharp.

"You don't trust us."

Mr Bell, the academy's senior caretaker, looked at twenty-seven seven-year-olds standing between shelves of hinges, rope, spare lantern glass and labelled boxes of screws.

"Correct."

Harper respected him after that. The workshop sat behind the lower administration corridor and smelled of timber, salt and machine oil. Nothing floated. Nothing glowed except a single Blinka-light over the main bench. Jasper liked it at once. Mr Bell held up a brass door hinge.

"What spell fixes this?"

Hands rose. A student suggested a joining charm. Another suggested metal shaping. Theo suggested asking the door politely. Mr Bell waited. Then held up a screwdriver.

"This one."

Harper laughed.

"That's not a spell."

"Very good."

Their task was to repair small pieces of ordinary academy equipment that had been collected throughout the year. Loose drawer handles. A wobbly stool. A cracked wooden storage tray. A lantern latch that no longer closed properly. Magic was allowed only after the physical problem had been identified. Ava received the lantern. She examined it from every angle.

"The spring is bent."

Mr Bell nodded.

"So?"

"Replace the spring."

"Good."

"Then use a holding charm while fitting the new one."

"Also good."

Ava looked pleased. Harper and Mia got the stool. Their first solution was to push it until it stopped wobbling. Mr Bell watched.

"Remarkable. It is now stable because Miss Vale is holding it. Will she remain attached to the furniture permanently?"

Harper let go. The stool rocked.

"Probably not."

They turned it over and found one leg had worked loose at the joint. Jasper and Theo got the storage tray. The crack was long but clean. Jasper reached automatically for his wand. Theo stopped him.

"We're meant to look first."

Jasper lowered it. Right. They tested the crack. The wood had dried unevenly. A joining charm would close it for a while, but Mr Bell explained that without glue and a brace the stress would simply pull it apart again.

"Magic is excellent at helping materials do what they can already do," he said. "It is less excellent at convincing broken things they were never broken."

Jasper thought that sounded important enough to be about people. Mr Bell seemed to notice his expression.

"It is about trays, Mr Holloway."

"Right."

They glued the split, clamped it and used a gentle warming charm to keep the workshop air even while it set. No spectacular result. No applause. Just a tray that would be usable again tomorrow. At the end, Mr Bell walked them through the academy repair log. Hundreds of entries. WINDOW LATCH, EAST SECOND FLOOR. LEAK UNDER KITCHEN SINK THREE. LOOSE RAIL SECTION, COVERED WALKWAY. HARBOUR HOOK ANCHORS, RECHECK AFTER ONE MONTH. Their hooks. Ava stopped at that one.

"You check them again?"

"Of course."

"Even after they passed inspection?"

"Passing inspection means something was safe when inspected. It does not make time stop."

Ava looked as though she had been handed a new favourite sentence. Mr Bell closed the book.

"A magical school still has doors. Doors still get loose. Stone still cracks. Ropes still wear out. If you grow up thinking every problem needs a more impressive spell, you become extremely expensive to employ."

On the way back upstairs, Harper carried the repaired stool because she had become attached to it emotionally.

"You cannot keep it," Ava said.

"I saved it."

"You tightened one joint."

"We have history."

Mr Bell called from behind them, "Put my stool down." Harper returned it. Jasper laughed all the way to lunch. That afternoon the sea lay bright beyond the windows. He did not look for a message in it. Some things needed listening. Some things needed a screwdriver. Knowing which was which felt increasingly like the whole point of school. Harper objected immediately. Near the end of the year, the first-years were asked to write welcome cards for students who had not arrived yet.

"We are still first-years."

Professor Elowen handed her a stack of blank cards.

"For another few weeks."

"I don't feel qualified."

"That has never stopped you speaking before."

The class laughed. Each card had the Tidefall crest on one side and a blank space on the other. The rules were simple. No names unless they wanted to sign. No frightening stories. No false promises. No telling new students which Order they would probably join. No mentioning Harper's fall. That final rule had not originally been on the board. Elowen added it after Harper raised her hand.

"I was going to say they should know the cliff is dangerous."

"The safety handbook already achieves this without beginning 'One time I fell off it.'"

"Less memorable."

Jasper stared at his card. He tried to remember what he had wanted someone to tell him on arrival day. That the boat ride ended. That the stairs were not as bad after the first week. That getting lost did not mean you were stupid. That homesickness could arrive after you thought you were fine. That magic looked much less impressive when you were cleaning up after it. That not knowing where you belonged yet was normal. He wrote: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO UNDERSTAND TIDEFALL ON THE FIRST DAY. Then underneath: LEARN THE ROUTE TO BREAKFAST. THE REST CAN WAIT. He liked that. Harper leaned over.

"Mine is better."

Her card read: THE WEST STAIR HAS NINETY-FOUR STEPS. PEOPLE WILL TELL YOU ONE HUNDRED. THEY ARE WRONG. Ava looked across.

"That is genuinely useful."

Harper blinked.

"Thank you."

"I am uncomfortable too."

Ava's own card was longer. IF YOU ARE CONFUSED, ASK. IF YOU ARE LOST, ASK. IF SOMETHING FEELS UNSAFE, TELL SOMEONE EVEN IF YOU ARE NOT CERTAIN. YOU ARE NOT REQUIRED TO PROVE A PROBLEM BEFORE ASKING FOR HELP. Jasper read it twice.

"That's good."

Ava shrugged and immediately became interested in aligning the card with the edge of the table. Mia wrote: YOU WILL PROBABLY LOSE SOMETHING. CHECK LOST PROPERTY BEFORE ACCUSING YOUR ROOMMATES. Theo wrote: DO NOT ASK PROFESSOR ASHCROFT WHETHER STONE HAS FEELINGS BEFORE BREAKFAST. Soren asked why. Theo said, "Experience." Benji's card said: THE RAILINGS ARE THERE FOR A REASON. Nobody joked. Benji looked at the sentence for a moment, then added: SO ARE THE PEOPLE WHO THROW ROPES. Jasper saw it. They both nodded once. That was enough. Benji saw him seeing it. When the cards were finished, Elowen collected them into a wooden tray.

"Next year's students will receive these in their arrival packs."

Harper looked suddenly delighted.

"Some random seven-year-old is going to know the stair truth because of me."

"A legacy of enormous consequence," Ava said.

On the walk back to West, they passed the arrival courtyard. It looked smaller than Jasper remembered. That surprised him most. The arches were the same height. The sea was the same distance below. The doors were still heavy enough that two first-years sometimes needed to push together. But Jasper was no longer standing there with a suitcase and no idea which corridor led anywhere. He knew which stair squeaked near the library. Which dining-hall seats caught the morning sun. Which teachers gave extensions if you asked before an assignment was due rather than after. Which beach path collected puddles after rain. Which friend would run first. Which friend would count first. And which parts of himself needed neither running nor counting. Harper looked back. He stopped beside the courtyard wall.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Ava raised an eyebrow. Jasper smiled.

"It just doesn't look as big anymore."

Harper looked around.

"It is literally the same size."

"I know."

Ava understood first. She often did. They continued toward Room Fourteen. Behind them, the courtyard waited for next year's boats. Ahead, Choosing Tide waited for them. Neither needed to happen yet. They had dinner first.