Oh, dearest Alexa! How heroic you look, carrying a simple initiate like this! It is, indeed, one of the traditional heroic poses; if these students had any refinement, they would recognize this in a moment and give you the honor that you deserve! All their attention is on you, after all, the woman of the hour! Swept up in a daring chase, attempting to sweet-talk a gaggle of undergraduates, carrying an object of rescue like Percy Novus carrying Queen Andromella, and looking good doing it! As for all that with Athena and the loss of her favor, well, that’s the sort of drama-preserving handicap any good story needs, and one that everyone here is quite likely oblivious to.

And yet you still acknowledge the cultist’s gratitude. Is it, perhaps, that you are not so different? You have been driven to the dregs, your identity unmoored from its shining and steadfast purpose; small wonder that you are able to see, if only slightly, beneath that anonymizing hood and the air of absolute irrelevance.

“I’m very good at listening,” Skotos murmurs, sotto voce. You might be the only one who even hears, Alexa. “You should let us stay,” she adds. Can something be unheard but still understood? Like stage directions, or a passing thought. Like the wind, unseen but felt.