Cal matched Flynn’s grin width for width a she studied the badge.

“Damn straight I do,” she accepted it back and tossed it up in the air, catching it. “I never thought though, since women in Xara don’t really…”

She trailed off, noticing the way his smile wavered. She took the class, toning her own smile down in anticipation of what probably wasn’t going to be good news, and sat down on the sofa when indicated. If there had been any doubts that something was up, they were banished when Flynn took a long drink from his glass. Cal had drunk with Flynn before, and had been drunk around him, but she couldn’t remember him being anything other than reserved around alcohol. A combination of the fine line he had to toe between friend and boss as well as his sensible nature, she’d always assumed. He glanced back at her from his position on the edge of the sofa, nervousness evident in the intensity of his gaze and the tight lines around the corners of his mouth. Sitting back into the sofa, trying to look more relaxed, Cal gave him a reassuring smile as she lifted her own glass to her lips.

She brought the glass back down again almost immediately, a disclaimer on the edge of her tongue. Of course, she would never have taken the job if she’d known she was taking his job. Like most people with military training, Cal had the ability to control her facial expressions but generally found it a waste of effort among friends and family; it was visible when she bit back her assurances, listening to what he had to say next.

Flynn’s closing words felt remote, distant, as though he were speaking from a boat at sea and she was standing on the pier. She took the book because he’d given it to her, staring at the leather-bound hardback and its glittering letters in the nonsense language of Shaman.

“Oh,” she just said, a little flatly.

Almost immediately, Cal wanted to kick herself. This was an incredible achievement! Scholars were such a rarity in the Volcano that they were regarded with the reverence of the upper class and socialised almost exclusively within that group. What a fantastic opportunity for Flynn, her friend, who she was very happy for. Obviously. That went without saying.

So why was her heat in her throat, making it hard to swallow the drink? Why did the book feel like a dead weight in her hands? Why couldn’t she summon even an ounce of the enthusiasm which had buoyed her through his door?

She forced a smile, the way she might for a member of the public. “That’s awesome, Flynn. Genuinely. What a step up.”

Of course it was a step up, into a class of people Cal could barely see, let alone touch. She sat further forward in the chair, more in line with him, and passed the book back. The book was beyond her understanding, just like the wealth and status it represented. Rich people owned books, powerful people wrote them, and Cal couldn’t even read.

It felt so selfish to dwell on that in this moment. His moment. Cal bit it back, trying to ignore the invasive memory of him carrying her along the beach.

“Your dad’s right proud of you,” she smiled, lifting her glass in a toast.