The medical station was quieter than I expected. Celeste worked on my shoulder wound in efficient silence while I sat on the examination table, trying to process what had just happened.

I'd won. Beaten Matthias Wicke in front of the entire academy. Proven I could fight.

And somehow made everything worse.

"Hold still," Celeste said, dabbing antiseptic on the cut. "It's not deep, but it needs proper cleaning."

"How bad is it politically?" I asked.

"Bad." Caleb leaned against the doorframe, ...