The compartment was quiet. Empty. A rare luxury on September first.

Cassian Vale sat with his back to the window, one leg crossed over the other, a book open in his lap. He hadn't turned a page in six minutes.

The corridor outside was chaos—first-years scurrying, trunks bumping, mothers crying. He could hear it all through the glass. He'd chosen this compartment specifically because it was at the far end of the train. Far from everything.

The door slid open without a knock.