The Lost Child ~ [Xaden Riorson]

Chapter 2

"Elena Sosa, Brayden Blackburn." Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll, flanked by two other scribes on the dais as we stand in silent formation in the courtyard, squinting into the early sun.

This morning, we're all in rider black, and there's a single silver four-pointed star on my collarbone, the mark of a first-year, and a Fourth Wing patch on my shoulder. We were issued standard uniforms yesterday, summer-weight tight-fitted tunics, pants, and accessories after Parapet was over, but not flight leathers. There's no point handing out the thicker, more protective combat uniforms when half of us won't be around come Threshing in October. The dragon scale corset I made isn't regulation, but I fit right in among the hundreds of modified uniforms around me.

After the last twenty-four hours and one night in the first-floor barracks, I'm starting to realize that this quadrant is a strange mix of we-might-die-tomorrow hedonism and brutal efficiency in the name of the same reason.

"Jace Sutherland." Captain Fitzgibbons continues to read, and the scribes next to him shift their weight. "Dougal Luperco."

"Simone Casteneda." Captain Fitzgibbons closes the scroll. "We commend their souls to Malek." The god of death.

There's no formal conclusion to the formation, no last moment of silence. The names on the scroll leave the dais with the scribes, and the quiet is broken as the squad leaders all turn and begin to address their squads.

"Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you're not going to get another chance before lunch," Dain, our Squad Leader, says, his eyes meeting Violet's for the span of a heartbeat before he glances away, feigning indifference.

"He's good at pretending he doesn't know you," Rhiannon whispers at my side.

"He is," Violet replies just as softly.

"Second- and third-years, I'm assuming you know where to go," Dain continues as the scribes wind their way around the edge of the courtyard to my right, headed back to their quadrant.

There's a mutter of agreement from the senior cadets ahead of us. As first-years, we're in the back two rows of the little square that makes up Second Squad.

"First-years, at least one of you should have memorized your academic schedule when it was handed out yesterday." Dain's voice booms over us. "Stick together. I expect you all to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym."

Fuck, I'd almost forgotten that we're sparring today. It could go down bad for me. Even though I've been trained my whole life being both dragon instructed and general instructed, I've never sparred with a person.

"And if we're not?" the smart-ass first-year behind me asks.

Me and Violet don't bother looking, but Rhiannon does, rolling her eyes as she turns back forward.

"Then I won't have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning," Dain answers with a shrug.

A second-year ahead of me snorts a laugh, the movement jangling two small hoop earrings in her left lobe, but Imogen, who I realized yesterday is in my squad, stays silent.

"Sawyer?" Dain looks at the first-year to my left.

"I'll get them there." The tall, wiry cadet whose light complexion is covered with a smattering of freckles answers with a tight nod. His freckled jaw ticks, and my chest pangs with sympathy. He's one of the repeats—a cadet who didn't bond during Threshing and now has to start the entire year over.

"Get going," Dain orders, and our squad breaks apart around the same time the others do, transforming the courtyard from an orderly formation to a crowd of chatting cadets. The second- and third-years walk off in another direction, including Dain.