Chapter 6 · Brother's Spotlight

Fourteenth morning.

Kael woke with Dorian already dressed in showcase robes—midnight blue, silver thread, Ashford crest embroidered over the heart.

"Get up," Dorian said. "We're doing this together or not at all."

Kael sat on the edge of the bed. "You blocked me last night."

"I saved your iteration." Dorian tossed him a folded robe—plain, dark, unmarked. "Wear it. You'll be my anchor handler. Legitimate cover."

Anchor handler was a real role: the mage who stabilized focus stones during public demonstration. Close to the platform. Close to the sigil.

Kael dressed. "What's the plan?"

"Win. Survive. Don't let Mother puppet me at seven-twelve."

They practiced in the empty amphitheater before noon—Dorian's lightning, Kael's shields. Iteration after iteration had taught Kael's hands precision his bloodline never had. He could hold a three-layer ward for six seconds now. Six seconds was an eternity.

Dorian watched him stabilize the focus stone and said, grudgingly, "You're not useless."

"High praise."

"Shut up."

Faculty arrived for afternoon rehearsal. Professor Halven inspected the ward-stones and frowned at Kael.

"Scholarship boy on the platform? Irregular."

"He's my handler," Dorian said, voice cool with inherited authority. "Required for high-amplitude work."

Halven's eyes narrowed but he nodded.