Blair Davenport stood outside her sister’s temporary office at 9:47 PM, her hand raised to knock but frozen three inches from the door. The hallway was empty at this hour, most faculty gone home and most students confined to their apartments for mandatory study hours. Good. She didn’t need witnesses for this conversation.

She knocked twice. Sharp. Professional.

"Enter."

Cassandra sat behind the borrowed desk, already packing files into a leather briefcase that probably cost more than most hunters made in a month. The office looked stripped bare compared to this afternoon, when Blair had watched through the window across the quad as that lottery winner walked out alive and apparently untraumatized. Now only Cassandra’s personal effects remained, ready for transport back to the mainland where actual problems demanded attention.

"You’re leaving." Blair closed the door behind her and leaned against it, arms crossed over her chest. The posture was defensive and she knew it. Didn’t care.

"First flight tomorrow morning. The Kensington situation requires personal oversight, and Father wants a report on the Singapore expansion by Friday." Cassandra didn’t look up from her packing. "You could have texted."

"Texting isn’t sufficient for what I need to say."

That got Cassandra’s attention. Those cold blue eyes, the same shade as Blair’s own but somehow colder, lifted from the briefcase to study her younger sister with the dispassionate interest of a biologist examining a particularly unremarkable specimen.

"Then say it."

"Did you find anything on Monroe?"

"Nothing actionable." Cassandra returned to her packing. A folder went into the briefcase. Then another. "His improvement rate is anomalous but not impossible. Late awakening, intensive training, competent instruction. I’ve seen similar cases documented in the academic literature. Rare, but not unprecedented."

"That’s it? That’s all you found?"

"What did you expect me to find, Blair? Evidence of demonic pacts? Stolen enhancement formulas? A secret identity as the reincarnation of some legendary hunter from the ancient world?" Cassandra’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile on a warmer person. "He’s a lottery winner who got lucky with his physical development and found a mentor willing to push him beyond normal limits. Unremarkable except for his work ethic."

The word hit Blair like a slap. Unremarkable. Jace Monroe, who had somehow climbed from dead last to first in his class. Jace Monroe, who had stolen Misato away and turned half the female student body into simpering admirers. Jace Monroe, who looked at Blair like she was an obstacle to be circumvented rather than a superior to be feared.

Unremarkable.

"You’re wrong."

"Am I?" Cassandra closed the briefcase with a soft click and finally gave Blair her full attention. "Tell me what I’m missing. What piece of evidence have you uncovered that my investigation overlooked?"

Blair opened her mouth. Closed it. The bet with Misato burned in her throat, demanding to be spoken, but she couldn’t. Admitting the wager meant admitting she’d been so threatened by a first-year student that she’d gambled her assistant’s loyalty on a contest of rankings. It meant admitting that the contest was no longer certain to end in her favor.

"I can’t tell you."

"Then I can’t help you." Cassandra rose from the desk and smoothed her jacket, every movement controlled and elegant. "Blair. I say this as your sister, not as a Davenport representative. You need to let this obsession go. Whatever Monroe did to offend you, whatever slight you believe he committed, it’s beneath your notice. You’re a first-year Elite Ten student with a guaranteed position at any guild you choose. He’s a first-year with no connections, no resources, and no future beyond whatever scraps the academy system provides."

"He’s not beneath my notice."

"Then you’ve already lost." Cassandra walked around the desk and stopped in front of Blair, close enough that Blair could smell her sister’s perfume. Something expensive. Something that reminded Blair of their mother, dead now for eight years. "The moment you allow someone unremarkable to occupy this much space in your thoughts, you’ve elevated them beyond their worth. You’ve given them power they didn’t earn."

Blair’s jaw tightened. "You don’t understand what’s at stake."

"I understand that you’ve been requesting formal combat evaluations against a student three ranks below you. I understand that faculty have denied those requests because sanctioning such a mismatch would reflect poorly on the academy. I understand that you’ve been tracking his movements like a stalker rather than a superior."

Cassandra’s hand rose to touch Blair’s cheek, the gesture almost maternal. "I understand that my brilliant sister, who should be preparing for her future as a guild executive or IHC administrator, is instead wasting her academy years obsessing over a nobody."

The touch burned. Blair jerked away, her back hitting the door with a thump that echoed in the empty office.

"He’s not a nobody."

"Then prove it. Show me evidence. Give me something concrete that justifies the resources I’ve already wasted on your behalf." Cassandra’s expression didn’t change, but something in her voice hardened. "Or admit that this is about your own inadequacy rather than his capabilities."

The words landed like hammer blows. Blair felt heat rushing to her face, felt her eyes starting to sting with moisture she absolutely refused to shed in front of Cassandra. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

"I came here to discuss something else."

"Then discuss it."

Blair swallowed. Forced her voice to remain steady. "Your treatment of Misato Hayashi. My assistant. You struck her."

Cassandra’s eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. "I disciplined an insubordinate employee who forgot her place."

"She’s not your employee. She’s mine."

"She’s a Davenport asset assigned to your service, which makes her subject to family standards of conduct. When she spoke out of turn during my initial briefing, I corrected the behavior. Standard practice."

"She had a bruise on her face for three days."

"Then perhaps she’ll remember the lesson longer."

Blair’s hands curled into fists at her sides. The heat behind her eyes intensified, threatening to spill over into something embarrassing. She thought about Misato’s expression when Blair had first seen the mark, the way Misato had immediately apologized for causing Blair trouble rather than expressing any complaint about the violence done to her. The way Misato had flinched when Blair raised her hand to examine the injury more closely.

"You need to apologize to her."