Benji’s new favorite habit was visiting Warren’s teashop whenever he possibly could. He had branched out from chamomile, now favoring the smokier teas that weren’t common elsewhere, and which were infused with plantworkings to promote alertness and focus rather than the sleepy wellbeing of chamomile. He’d invited his parents to join him at the shop on one of his few visits home, but they seemed reluctant. Now that he was out of the apartment, they treated him with a bit of distance, as if wary of interfering with his university life. Had he been younger, he might have appreciated this newfound separation. As an adult who had long ago made his peace with intergenerational living, he mostly just missed them.

  He no longer sought the solitude of Warren’s private booths. Plenty of tables for individuals or couples filled the public areas, and Warren didn’t mind if patrons sat for a few hours with their tea and schoolwork.

  Today Benji was in the seat nearest the door. He regretted the decision, as the weather had finally turned truly cold, and every time the door opened, a breath of chill air followed the new arrival inside.

  The door opened, and Jurni rode in on the frigid air.

  Things still felt unsettled between them. Benji hadn’t forgotten her tense conversation with Nella, or her admission about her brother. Neither knew what stage of friendship they were in, if any.

  “Do you want to join?” Benji asked. “Warren just refilled my pot.”

  “You’re getting free refills already? Is this a senior student benefit?”

  The joke was canted slightly too far off what felt comfortable at the moment. Benji, however, let her off the hook with a laugh.

  “I’m meeting some people,” Jurni said. “. . . and early as usual. I can hang for a few.”

  “Please.” Benji slid the chair on the opposite side of the narrow table out with his foot. He set aside his languageworking textbook. Warren had somehow already managed to deliver an extra teacup and saucer, complete with an orange-infused biscuit.

  “This tea smells a whole lot more adventurous than what I’m used to,” Jurni said as he poured. “Whatever happened to peppermint?”

  “This is much more subtle,” Benji said, “or at least that’s what my fellow tea snobs have told me.”

  Jurni took a careful sip. “Okay, the tea snobs might have a point. It’s like being at a campfire, but somehow not just the smell or taste of smoke. It’s like someone telling you a story and staring into the fire as you listen.”

  Benji beamed. “For me it’s like being in the laundry where my dad works, the smell of the fires where they heat the water, the soap and clothes drying after a good clothworking.”

  “And yet it doesn’t taste like soap, or choking on smoke.” Jurni set her cup down, sighing appreciatively. “I’ve been coming here almost seven years and I’ve never tried this. Can you believe that?”

  “We all have our patterns. I never tried being a mage until this year.”

  Jurni cackled. The earnestness of that sound sent a surge of relief through Benji.

  “And if our metalworking class is anything to go by, there’s just as much fire and smoke involved in being a mage as there is with this tea,” Jurni said.

  “Honestly, we’re all lucky to still have eyebrows.”

  Jurni tapped her nose ring. “I did have the serious thought once that I should take this off before class because there was a legitimate chance of it melting on my face. For Varai’s sake, how is Mason still employed here?”

  “Nepotism? That’s the only possible explanation. That, or he uncovered incriminating information about a powerful university administrator.”

  “This is a man who occasionally breaks into song when a student melts a hole through their workbench. Does he really seem the type to play politics well enough to get tenure?”

  Benji shook his head. “Yet here we are.”

  They toasted with their teacups.

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  Before long, Jurni’s friends arrived and she got up to join them. As she did, Benji took a deep, anxious breath, and then said what he’d meant to earlier:

  “Hey, so I know you originally only wanted to hang out with me because you felt protective or whatever, but I just wanted you to know I don’t care about that. Or, I guess that’s not true. I actually appreciated it. It’s hard to feel out of step with everyone else, and you made me feel welcome. So there’s that—just wanted you to know that.” Benji felt himself rambling as Jurni waited patiently, her friends looking over her shoulder to see what was taking so long. “But all that said, let’s do this more. Like friend stuff.”

  Jurni’s puzzled expression at the absolute word soup Benji had just dumped in her lap quickly changed to a wry smile.

  “Friend stuff sounds good,” Jurni said, stepping over and mussing his hair as casually as if he’d been her brother who’d just made a moderate fool of himself.

  Benji sipped his tea to cover the fact that he was almost hyperventilating, as she went to join her friends. Warren chose that exact moment to come over and take Jurni’s used cup.

  “You’re a wise lad,” he said, strong arms flexing as he maneuvered a nearly full tray of cups and saucers.

  “Yeah, why’s that?”

  “Most people let friendship just sort of happen rather than talking about it.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  Cups clacked together as Warren stacked Jurni’s on top. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I actually think it’s rather brave.”

  “‘Brave’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘normal.’”

  “Don’t aspire to normal.”

  Benji noticed the next table over needed to be cleared as well, and Warren’s tray was full. Benji grabbed the teapot and cups, ignoring Warren’s protests as he accompanied the teashop owner back toward the counter.

  “Patrons shouldn’t clear tables,” Warren said, setting the tray down next to the sink with a grunt. Benji could never tell how old he was. A patchwork of nasty scars ran up his arms, the kind that could only come from some form of combat.

  “At this point, I think I’ve come here often enough to be promoted to Silver Tea Drinker status. I was hoping that gave me the right to be useful.”

  Warren grunted again, this time with humor. Benji handed the cups over, marveling that Warren immediately began washing them by hand, without a waterworking. Those leathery, scarred hands moved with deft care.

  “How long have you owned this shop?”

  “Are you really asking why I don’t have any employees to wash dishes for me?”

  Benji shrugged.

  “It wasn’t long after I came west. I was a treeskip hunter, back before we figured out how to live with the creatures. It’s been long enough since we were necessary, you’ve probably never heard of us.”

  “You protected the logging operations in the east, right?” Benji had certainly never seen a treeskip, but he’d heard of them. They were half the size of a human, gliding from tree to tree on bat-like wings. And their long snouts were famed for housing multiple rows of teeth as sharp as any sword.

  “I did my best. We lost a lot of good people to the treeskips, all over the assumption that we couldn’t figure out a way to coexist with them. Anyway, I digress.”

  The washtub sloshed as Warren finished washing a pot, which he handed to Benji along with a drying towel.

  “It’s coming up on twenty years since I got my retirement payout, after the deal with the treeskips went into effect. The payment was enough to start a new life, but paltry considering what a life of fighting had taken from me. I came to Thelspoint with no idea what I’d do with myself. The previous owner had decided this shop was too much trouble, and I guess he took pity on a lost soul. Never mind that I didn’t know anything about sourcing ingredients or running a business.”

  “You seem to have done alright.”

  “There was the small matter of accidentally getting involved in a smuggling operation a few years back. It’s maybe not common knowledge, but you should know that the types of tea here weren’t common in the west before people started getting a taste for them in my shop. The more obscure the tea, the more likely it had to pass through criminal hands on its way into Thelspoint.”

  Warren smiled as he began drying his hands, and his eyes were alight with mischief. “Don’t worry, that little smuggling ring has been locked up for a long time, and my tea deliveries have never been more legal.”

  “I would never tell you how to run your business, or which criminal enterprise to associate with,” Benji said. “You mentioned that the teas weren’t popular in the west before you arrived?”

  “It’s a mix. I’d hate to tell you how many of them are actually inspired by the months I spent in infirmaries after one treeskip bite or another. Turns out, the same properties that give teas medicinal applications can, with a little tinkering, also be good for your more everyday ailments—your anxieties and stresses rather than your blunt force traumas.”

  Benji nodded. He liked listening to Warren talk, enjoyed the gravelly sound of his voice and the way he coated even the worst experiences with a wry patina of accepting good humor.

  A wild thought came into Benji’s head, about things being hidden beneath the city, whether they be mysterious creatures harbored by a student, or tea brought in through illicit channels.

  Benji spoke before the thought was fully formed. “If you had connections in the underworld—obviously connections you no longer have, I’m sure, this shop seems very above board, it truly does—did you ever hear anything about secret ways of moving materials? Like secret passages underneath the city or something?”

  Warren stopped dead. He set his cloth down and leaned against the counter, arms extended to hold himself up. His eyes settled on a small trapdoor behind the counter, which Benji had assumed went down to the basement where the overflow inventory was kept. Clearly not.

  Warren’s voice was almost a growl. “How did you find out about the secret passages?”