Though your body was growing heavier by the minute with tiredness, your mind was whirring, still fueled by the excitement of the trial.

You were at the Academy and had finally began work on the sketch logs. Your hand was on the verge of cramping, but you had slipped into a productive, unconscious rhythm of working. Sketch front, sketch back, sketch side, next! Sketch front, sketch back, sketch side, next!

If anything, the job had almost become an art class. It was a welcome change from the usual cityscape portraits you so regularly churned out. The array of items you had been given to work with was astounding in its diversity: twisting glass test tubes and an assortment of teensy tweezers; rocks engraved with odd markings and piles upon piles of cogs stuffed into boxes; even some sort of technologically-enhanced jewelry box. With a lurch you had recognised it as the thing that had held the glowing blue shard you had seen back at the apartment, though the odd gem itself wasn't there.

You were hardly surprised at that, though. Because you weren't qualified to be meddling with such potentially dangerous science-y stuff, you had been placed in a relatively busy area to ensure you didn't accidentally blow anything up - or yourself, for that matter.

A constant stream of scholars and scientists bustled in and out of the room, armed with piles of papers, cups of strong black beverages and precarious piles of scientific stuff. Few paid you little attention other than a curious glance, a quick greeting.

You didn't mind. You worked quicker when you weren't interrupted; when you had a chance to zone out and just work.

After a few hours of being in the trance-like state of sketch, turn, sketch, log, next, you were snapped out of it by a familiar accented voice.

"You're here rather late," a voice from behind you remarked.

"I could say the same for you," you replied without turning, pencil still flying over paper.

"Actually, I'm just leaving," Viktor said, "which means you have to, too."

You put down your stationery and looked over your shoulder. "Why?"

"You can hardly be left alone with all this." He swept an arm around the room.

"There's no one else?"

"Not unless you count the night guards, but they wouldn't take too kindly to you being here after hours."

You glanced out of the nearest window and were surprised to see it was pitch-black outside.

"What time is it?" you asked, perplexed.

"Just past twelve, I believe."

Jeez. Had you seriously been here six hours? You looked down at your completed drawings and after a quick count were dismayed to find you were just off your set amount for the night.

"Give me two more minutes," you said, then, when he looked unconvinced, you added, "Please? I've nearly finished this one."

"Eh... Alright."

He pulled a stool over and sat, grabbing a leather-bound journal - one of Jayce's - from the pile of contraband. As you leafed through the pages, you frowned.

"Are you supposed to be doing that?"

He shrugged, nimble eyes skimming the lines of writing and equations. "There's no one here to find out, is there?"

He cast you a humourous glance and flicked another page, as if in defiance.

The pair of you sat occupied in silence for few minutes. The room was silent, save for the distant gurgle of pipes, the scratch of lead on paper, Viktor's murmuring as he read under his breath.

It took a while for you to notice that the mumbling had stopped. You looked over at Viktor and saw he was watching as you sketched, sharp eyes following your hand, head cocked in intrigue. He quickly diverted his attention when he noticed he had been spotted.

"Are you done?" he asked, making a point to intently study his book.

You nodded and packed your things away whilst he locked up for the night. You thumbed through the drawings you had completed, noticing an apparent decrease in detail as time had worn on and you had worn out. The last few were barely outlines with a few vague pencil marks thrown in. You shuffled those to the back of the pile - hopefully no one would look too closely.

The Academy was a marbled maze of wide corridors and many floors, which made it particularly difficult to traverse - especially at night. The hallways were dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight outside.

In the silence your footsteps sounded as loud as gunshots. You took care to step lightly. Viktor didn't seem to care; he strode unbothered, cane clacking. You noticed he folded his arm unusually across his middle.

"Good read?" you asked with a grin, nodding to the totally-not-suspicious book-shaped lump concealed under his arm.

He cringed and took out the notebook from under his waistcoat. "I thought it was well hidden."

"You'd be more inconspicuous if you were balancing it on your head."

He held it up and seemed to consider trying for a moment. "You're overestimating my abilities."

"I don't think I am. Tampering with and stealing confiscated items?" you retorted with theatrical disgust. "Not behaviour I'd expect from Heimerdinger's assistant."

"I'm not stealing," he protested. "Just... borrowing."

"Permanently?"

"Temporarily. I'm going to give it back."

"Yeah, like you're going to give back my sketchpad?"

He scoffed, unable to repress a hint of a smile. "Tomorrow, really - I promise."

"Alright," you said, your tone making it clear you were unconvinced.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, moving towards you. You both instantly fell silent. A guard with an impressive moustache rounded the corner, flashlight methodically sweeping the floor.

Viktor fumbled and stuffed the book back up his vest.

The guard greeted the pair of you with a grunt and a nod as he passed, barely sparing a glance.

Once around the corner you waited for the steps to fade before letting out a nervous laugh. Viktor retrieved the book and held it out triumphantly.

"See?" he said. "Very well hidden."

You rolled your eyes, smiling.