A single sheet of paper on my desk, weighed down by my wolfsbane vial like he'd placed it there deliberately. Like he wanted me to see both at the same time, the thing keeping me alive and the thing reminding me who held the leash now.

I sat up and read it.

Six a.m. — morning drills. With him.

Seven-thirty — breakfast. Solas table, east end, second seat.

Nine — Leadership class. Front row.

Eleven — combat review. His schedule, not mine.

Afternoon — strategy sessions he'd circled ...