It’s a beautiful day.
The season is comfortably warm, a suspended moment between the sweltering heat of the summer and the winter’s cold, not yet caught by the fog and rain.
On any other day, Dean would have enjoyed the walk to the University.
“I hope I did well enough to be accepted,” Dean says.
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be”, Victoria answers. “You said it yourself, you did well on the tests.”
Not as good as you, Dean doesn’t say. It feels too petty, too spiteful, no matter how true it is. Victoria is far better at alchemy than he is, and in all likelihood, than he ever will be.
“I suppose I will be fixed soon enough,” Dean says. “We’re there.”