Proctor Pierce liked to hang rules where everyone could see them, then wait for people to slap their own faces on them. He stood at the end of a long, narrow chamber lined with dangling chimes and metal plates. Sand dusted the floor in a mean, thin layer. The far door had a bell rope that looked too easy.
"Silent Hall," he said. "You move from this door to that rope. If a chime sounds, the counter ticks. If a plate scrapes, the counter ticks. If your spell hum exceeds one breath, the counter howls. Lowest ticks wins. Try not to breathe like you're running from a cat."
Students laughed. They always did before they learned.
Teams were small. Mine: Gareth with his reliable hands, Lyra with her brass badge and chord coil, Pelham looking like a man who had put on the wrong coat and was trying to pretend it fit. A rune-tech named Ilya stood behind us with a slate and a calm face. She would count. She loved counting.
