The chapel was empty in the way only academy chapels ever were — not abandoned, just waiting. Candles burned low along the nave, their light catching on stone worn smooth by centuries of students kneeling with questions they never voiced aloud.

You hadn’t expected to find Kit there.

He sat in the second pew from the front, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped, head bowed without truly praying. His coat lay folded beside him, as if he’d already decided he wouldn’t need it for much longer.

You slowed, instinctively quiet.

He heard you anyway.

“I was hoping it’d be you,” he said without turning.

That stopped you.

You moved to sit beside him, leaving a careful space — not out of distance, but respect. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The chapel breathed around you, old and patient.

“They think I don’t know,” Kit said finally. “That everyone found out through Catherine. Through Professor Hale.”

You frowned. “Found out what?”

He turned then, and there was no attempt to soften it.

“That I’m leaving.”

The word settled between you like a dropped stone.

“They’ll say I didn’t tell anyone,” he continued. “And they’re right. I didn’t. Not Lili. Not the others. I let them piece it together like a rumor.”

You searched his face. “But you’re telling me.”

“Yes.”

Not defensively. Not proudly. Just fact.

“I didn’t want you to hear it secondhand,” he said. “I didn’t want you to look at me and wonder why I disappeared without explanation.”

Your chest tightened, but you kept your voice steady. “When?”

“At nightfall. Tomorrow.”

The candles flickered. Somewhere deeper in the building, wood creaked.

“You didn’t say goodbye to her,” you said, carefully.

He shook his head. “Lili would’ve asked me to stay. Or to promise something I can’t.”

“And me?” you asked, before you could stop yourself.

He held your gaze.

“You won’t,” he said. “You’ll understand why I have to go — even if you don’t like it.”

That was the difference. The reason he was here.

“I’m not leaving because I don’t care,” he added quietly. “I’m leaving because if I stay, I’ll become someone I don’t recognize.”

You nodded once, slow. Acceptance didn’t mean ease.

“When people ask,” you said, “what should I tell them?”

He considered that. Then, softer, “Tell them I left to learn how to be a diplomat.”

He stood, lifting his coat, then hesitated — a rare thing for him.

“I didn’t come here to be absolved,” he said. “I just… needed one person to know.”