---
Fizz floated closer and bumped his shoulder. "Tell me later," he said. "Tell me when the lamps are out and the room is pretending to be a ship. I will pretend to paddle."
John nodded. "Tomorrow we ride."
"Tomorrow we ride," Fizz echoed, as if the words were a small spell that would keep the morning honest.
They doused the lamp. The dorm breathed around them. Somewhere a student laughed, then tried to swallow it because it was late. Somewhere a teacher paced and planned to terrify a room at dawn. Somewhere, far beyond the walls, the Black Jungle waited the way old places wait: patient, dark, unamused.
John lay back and watched the crooked beam become a finger again. The line in his chest was steady. The M15 hummed in the corner of his mind like a well-tuned promise. The communication stone sat warm in his pocket like a quiet yes. He closed his eyes.
