From behind, a smooth, familiar voice cut through the quiet, halting Vencian before the next turn.
When he turned, Aline was there, walking quickly to catch up, a book hugged to her chest.
"Were you talking to someone?" she said, falling into step with him, her brow creased.
He hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Old habit. Thinking out loud."
She studied the air beside him as if the silence might answer. Then she relaxed. "You should be careful doing that. People already think you talk to ghosts."
"I suppose that would fit the family reputation." His tone was dry, not defensive. "How have you been? You look less exhausted than last term."
Her mouth twitched. "A miracle. I started sleeping. My mentor finally stopped making me retranslate temple inscriptions every night." She glanced down the hall. "And you? You vanished after the last symposium."
"Research work," he said. "Archives. Dead ends mostly."
