Friendship did not make people automatically honest. Jasper learned this near the end of first year. He should have learned it earlier. The problem began with Ava's notebook. Not the Map of Things That Should Not Happen. A second notebook. Dark green cover. Jasper found it under Bag Bed while looking for his missing shoe. He did not open it. That mattered. He picked it up to put it on Ava's desk. A loose page slipped out. Jasper caught it before it hit the floor. His own name was written at the top. He read one line before realising he should not. Jasper reports increased Sea sensitivity during stress— He stopped. Ava entered. Her face changed instantly.

"Give me that."

Jasper held out the page.

"I didn't read it."

"You are holding it."

"It fell out."

Ava took it. Her hands shook slightly. Jasper looked at the green notebook.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

Bad nothing. Harper appeared in the doorway carrying one shoe.

"Found—"

She stopped.

"What happened?"

Ava put the page inside the notebook.

"Nothing."

Harper looked at Jasper. He said, "There is a notebook about me." Ava's face hardened.

"It is not about you."

"My name is on it."

"Because I am recording Listener observations separately from the general map."

Jasper stared.

"Why separately?"

"Because it includes personal factors."

The phrase made him feel like a school project.

"Personal factors?"

Ava heard it too late.

"I mean sleep, stress, location—"

"You track my sleep?"

"Only when you tell me!"

Harper put Jasper's shoe down.

"Ava."

"What? I'm trying to work out what affects the connection."

Jasper's anger arrived fast.

"I didn't ask you to."

Ava froze. The room became silent. Jasper wished immediately he had said it less sharply. He did not take it back. Ava looked at the notebook.

"You tell me things."

"That doesn't mean you get to make a file."

"I make notes about everything."

"I'm not everything."

Harper sat on Bag Bed slowly. Ava looked hurt now.

"I was trying to help."

Jasper knew. That made it complicated, not okay.

"I know."

"Then what is the problem?"

"I don't want every bad day turned into data for the Sea."

Ava looked at him. Jasper heard his own words from months earlier. Everyone wants me to do it. Everyone turns things into the Sea. He continued more carefully.

"Some things I tell you because you're my friend. Not because they're clues."

Ava sat down at the desk. The green notebook remained in both hands.

"I didn't know there was a difference."

That sentence made Jasper's anger soften. Ava was not spying for fun. She genuinely organised information as care. If something mattered, she wrote it down. If someone was in danger, she looked for patterns. Jasper's experiences mattered to her, so she recorded them. But care without asking could still cross a line. Professor Ward's lesson again. Protection without consent could become control. Not only Jasper's problem. Harper said, "Maybe we need notebook rules." Ava glared.

"Do not call them notebook rules."

"Data constitution?"

"Worse."

Jasper sat on his bed.

"Can I ask what's in it?"

Ava nodded reluctantly.

"Dates. Things you said you felt. Whether you'd slept badly if you mentioned it. Classes. Places."

"Anything I didn't tell you?"

"Observations. Like if you looked tired."

Jasper winced. Ava did too.

"Okay. That sounds bad now."

Harper said, "Little bit." Ava opened the notebook.

"You can read it."

Jasper shook his head.

"I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to check whether my friend wrote something wrong about me."

Ava closed it.

"What do you want me to do?"

Jasper thought.

"Ask before writing personal stuff."

"Every time?"

"If it isn't directly about a Sea event, yes."

Ava nodded.

"What counts as direct?"

Harper groaned.

"Ava."

"I need boundaries."

Jasper smiled despite himself. They created three. If Jasper reported a Sea sensation during a clear event, Ava could record event facts. If Jasper shared feelings, sleep, family things or ordinary bad days, Ava asked before connecting them to the record. If staff needed information for safety, Jasper decided what personal detail to share unless emergency made that impossible. Ava wrote the rules on the inside cover. Then she did something Jasper did not expect. She tore out several pages.

"What are those?"

"Personal observations you didn't agree to."

"You don't have to destroy everything."

"I do not need them."

She tore them in half. Harper looked solemnly at the paper bin.

"The archive burns."

Ava almost smiled. Later that evening, Jasper told Ava he had slept badly after the storm. She did not move toward the notebook. He noticed.

"You can write that."

"Why?"

"Because I'm choosing to tell you for the record."

Ava nodded. She wrote one line. Jasper felt strangely good about it. Consent did not mean never sharing. It meant sharing remained a choice. That lesson would matter much later, though none of them knew it yet. For now, it meant Ava's green notebook became thinner and their friendship became stronger. Harper found Jasper's missing shoe under her own bed. Nobody understood how it got there. Some mysteries stayed unsolved because they were stupid.