Later, as the sun dipped lower, Lucky sat on a broken step, picking at dirt under her nails. Fang trained alone nearby, striking stone dummies with sharp, disciplined movements.

  Sir Dracks approached Lucky.

  She stiffened, ready for a lecture.

  Instead, he said, “You build based on instinct.”

  Lucky blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

  “That is not wrong,” Sir Dracks continued. “But this place was built for war. For loss.”

  Lucky frowned. “Then maybe that’s why it broke.”

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  That stopped him.

  She stood. “Look, I get that this place means a lot to you. But everything here feels like it was made for people who already knew what they were doing. I didn’t. I just wanted to help.”

  Sir Dracks studied her. “Why?”

  Lucky hesitated. “…Because when everything falls apart, someone has to try to put it back together.”

  The words landed harder than Heaven ever had.

  Sir Dracks turned away slightly. “You remind me of people I buried.”

  Lucky’s breath caught. “I’m… sorry.”

  “I am not angry with you,” he said. “I am afraid of becoming attached.”

  Lucky looked up at him. “Too late.”

  He met her gaze.

  She smiled, small but real. “You don’t treat me like a student. Or a weapon. You treat me like… someone you want to keep safe.”

  Sir Dracks said nothing.

  That was answer enough.