The suspension notice spread through Elmbridge before breakfast. Students who had never visited the archive complained loudly about losing access to records they hadn't known existed. Those who actually needed the materials were quieter and more worried. Raze read the announcement twice, then went to the infirmary instead of the administrative tower.
Master Oren examined him with the weary patience of a healer accustomed to gifted patients who regarded instructions as negotiable suggestions.
"How many hours did you sleep?"
"Seven."
"Properly?"
"Mostly."
"Headaches?"
"Twice. Both during prolonged analysis. I stopped when they began."
Oren checked his pulse and mana flow, then repeated the basin test at a lower intensity. The water brightened, formed three concentric rings, and settled.
"Better," he said. "Not cured. Better."
"Do you think my talent has a fixed cost?"
