Solomon Garrett was nailing down floorboards when the stranger collapsed in the doorway. The man left a blood trail across the threshold. Solomon set down his hammer and crossed the half-built classroom. The stranger clutched his side, eyes wild, and said the words that made Solomon's chest go tight: he knew who burned the last reform school. The stranger pressed something into Solomon's hand before he could ask questions. It was a jacket, green with embroidered patterns, scorched along one sleeve. Solomon recognized the emblem stitched over the breast pocket. It matched the one he'd drawn up for his own academy, the one he hadn't shown anyone yet. The stranger coughed blood and said a name Solomon hadn't heard in fifteen years. Someone from the old days. Someone who knew what Solomon had been and wanted to make sure no one else got the second chance he did.

Solomon buried the stranger at dawn before anyone else arrived at the building site. He left the scorched jacket folded on his workbench. The name the dying man had spoken still sat in his mouth like ash. Someone knew. Someone was watching. And if they'd sent a messenger once, they'd send another. The rider came at noon. She tied her horse to the rail outside the old temple at the edge of town, the one with vines crawling up cracked stone columns. Solomon watched from across the way as she climbed the steps and disappeared inside. He recognized her walk before he saw her face. She'd ridden with him fifteen years ago, back when they'd both been running from something worse than the law. He crossed the street and followed her in. The temple smelled like rot and old incense. She stood in the center of the ruined floor, arms crossed. "He said you'd come," she told him. "Said you wouldn't be able to help yourself." Solomon kept his hands loose at his sides. "Who sent you?" She smiled without warmth. "Someone who remembers the oath you made. Someone who thinks you've forgotten what happens to oathbreakers." Solomon felt his jaw tighten. "I haven't forgotten anything." She pulled a folded paper from her coat and held it out. "Then you know what this means." He took it. The paper showed a sketch of his academy floor plan, the one locked in his desk drawer. Every room marked. Every exit numbered. A message written across the top: burn it yourself or watch it burn with everyone inside. Solomon looked at her. "Tell him I'm not running." She nodded once, like she'd expected that. "Then he'll come himself. And he won't send a warning next time." She walked past him toward the door, boots echoing on broken tile. Solomon stayed in the temple after she left, the threat in his hands. He'd wanted to know who was watching. Now he did. And now he had to choose between the academy and the people inside it, because keeping both meant risking everything.