"I think it isn't my place to decide," may sound like a non-answer, skating over his point without penetrating the surface tension. That it's true probably makes little difference, and so she deigns to elaborate— "I don't know what will happen to Rifters after the war, but I do know there are places for a mage outside of a Circle and always have been if that's your concern."

Under him, her chin rises by a fraction. Buttons are undone. Her other hand drifts absently so as to brush her fingertips against his knee or thigh or side—whichever comes most conveniently to hand.

"Do you know what you want after?"