The tea was steeping, and the house was filled with the warm, deceptive smell of chamomile. Arin and Lysa were "clumsily" helping Avaris set the table when the rhythmic, light tapping returned to the door.
I didn't jump. I didn't reach for a weapon. I simply adjusted my glasses, smoothed my vest, and felt the high-speed gears of my mind click into place. I knew exactly who it was.
I opened the door to find the Grey Cloak standing there. The mud was gone, his uniform was crisp, and in his hand, he held a small, aromatic silk bag.
"Master Verne," he said, his voice unusually soft. "I believe we started the day on... difficult terms. I've brought a premium blend of Northern mountain tea. A peace offering, if you will. I find that a hot brew often clarifies the mind better than a military drill."
"Tea! Oh, how delightfully domestic!" I beamed, pulling the door wide with a fluttery, over-excited gesture. "Come in, come in! You've arrived at the perfect thermal window for a steep!"
We sat at the kitchen table. The Grey Cloak watched me like a hawk as I prepared the pots. He wasn't here for friendship; he was here to catch the "Ghost" off guard with a relaxed atmosphere. He thought a casual conversation would trip me up where a sword couldn't.
He was playing a game of wits against a man who had memorized the structural blueprints of the imperial palace for fun.
"You know, Ilyas," the Grey Cloak said, leaning back as the steam rose between us. "It's fascinating. A man of your intellect, spending his days measuring silt and arguing over fence posts. Doesn't it feel... beneath you? Or perhaps, it's the perfect place to hide a very large secret?"
I didn't blink. I didn't tighten my grip on the teapot. Instead, I leaned in, my eyes sparkling with a fake, obsessive intensity.
"Hide? Oh, Courier, you hit the nail on the head!" I whispered, leaning so close he instinctively pulled back. "I am hiding something. Something massive. Something that has kept me awake for three nights straight."
The Grey Cloak's hand twitched toward his belt. He thought he had the confession. "And what is that?"
"The Third Law of Capillary Siphonage in porous granite!" I cried, slapping the table so hard the tea splashed. "I've been hiding the data because I'm afraid the Academy's board won't fund the repairs! If the moisture continues to climb the Northern wall at a rate of 0.4 millimeters per month, the entire masonry will reach a state of 'Hyper-Saturation' by the year 235! I've been terrified that if a man of your caliber saw my notes, you'd realize the school is technically a sponge!"
The Grey Cloak froze. The "confession" he wanted was buried under a landslide of boring physics.
"Wait," I continued, eyes wide. "Since you're here... could you check my math on the friction-coefficient of the damp mortar? I have three hundred pages of calculations in the cellar. It would be a huge relief to have an Imperial eye on the 'Stress-Strain' curve of the foundation!"
I started to stand up, acting as if I were going to fetch a literal mountain of boring paperwork.
The Grey Cloak looked at me—truly looked at me—and I saw the light of suspicion die in his eyes, replaced by a deep, hollow exhaustion. He realized that if he stayed, he would be subjected to a six-hour lecture on wet rocks.
"No," he said, standing up abruptly, leaving his tea untouched. "I... I have seen enough, Master Verne. Your 'secret' is quite safe with me. And your math. I have no desire to see the 'Stress-Strain' curve of anything ever again."
He turned and practically fled toward the door.
"But the tea!" I called out after him, a tiny, sharp smile hidden by the rim of my cup. "It hasn't even reached full oxidation yet!"
The door slammed shut.
Avaris stepped out from the kitchen, holding a tray of biscuits, her eyes gleaming with pride. "You didn't just catch him off guard, Ilyas. You gave that man a psychological wound that will take years to heal."
"He came for a secret," I said, calmly taking a sip of the mountain tea. "I gave him the most powerful one I have: that a bored man is a safe man."
The Grey Cloak has fled, and the "Boring" armor is thicker than ever.