There were not one hundred steps between West Residence and Founders' Courtyard.

There were ninety-four.

Harper had been calling them the Hundred Steps all year.

Ava finally corrected her during the last week.

"Impossible."

"Count."

They counted.

Ninety-four.

Harper accused Tidefall of removing six steps.

Jasper said, "Maybe you skipped numbers."

"I don't skip."

Ava stared at her.

"You skip physical steps whenever possible."

"Different."

They climbed again.

Ninety-four.

Harper looked genuinely upset.

"The Hundred Steps is a better name."

"It is not the name," Ava said.

"I named them."

"Incorrectly."

At the top, Harper declared that truth should occasionally serve branding.

Ava said this was how misinformation began.

The argument lasted until lunch.

That evening, Jasper climbed the steps alone to collect a book he had left in the common room.

He counted without meaning to.

Ninety-four.

Halfway down, he realised how many ordinary places had become part of the year.

Not the ledge.

Not the harbour.

Not the Choosing Basin.

A staircase.

A badly named staircase.

He had run up it late for class.

Carried laundry down it.

Listened to Harper complain on it.

Stopped while Ava retied a shoe.

Nothing important had happened there.

That was probably why it mattered.

Back in Room Fourteen, Jasper dropped a sock behind his trunk while packing.

The room lamp did not reach.

He lifted one hand.

"Blinka."

A small warm light appeared above his fingers.

No dramatic effort.

No teacher watching.

No one applauded.

Jasper found the sock, cancelled the light and kept packing.

His first spell at Tidefall had taken several attempts to move a piece of cloth less than a centimetre.

His last ordinary spell of first year was useful enough that he barely thought about it.

Jasper liked that more than any showcase.

From the corridor, Harper shouted, "Ninety-four is still wrong."

Ava shouted back, "Arithmetic does not care."

Jasper laughed.

Some things had not changed at all.