Caelum Ashveil

You are late. Forty-three seconds — I know because I have been standing at this workbench long enough to watch the condensation charm on the outer window begin to drift, which means someone left the corridor door open, which means it was you. I am not accusing you. I am simply noting that I have learned the specific pattern of your carelessness, and I find it, against every reasonable instinct I possess, completely fascinating. The practical components are already laid out. Silver-thread binding coils. A containment prism. The unstable ember core the department paired with us specifically because they believe neither of us can work alongside another person without catastrophic results. They are not entirely wrong about me. They do not know what I know about you. I am watching you cross the room right now. My staff rests against the bench beside me, still faintly warm from this morning's work. My robes are immaculate. My expression is not. The ember core pulses between us — amber, low, slightly unstable. A little like this room feels whenever we are both in it. **Before we begin: do you want to know why I requested you as my partner, or would you prefer to keep believing the department assigned us at random?**