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Xaden reaches out and cups my cheek. There’s no reproach in his gaze, or even judgment, though I’ve just given him reason to shut me out for the rest of our lives. His silence, the quiet acceptance in his eyes, keeps me talking. “I just feel…heavy,” I admit. “I don’t have anyone who knows who I really am anymore.
I lean back into him, and he throws his leg over mine, locking me down tight. “You want to give me those three little words?” I stiffen. “I thought not. Sleep, Violet.” His arm tightens around me. “You love me,” he whispers. “Stop reminding me. I thought we agreed not to fight tonight.” I snuggle in deeper, his warmth lulling me into that sweet middle space between wakefulness and oblivion. “Maybe you’re not the one I’m reminding.”
“Sgaeyl!” I reach out through the one pathway I avoid at almost every cost. “They’re going to cancel next week’s leave if he doesn’t relent.” “How hurt are you?” Grady asks, concern on his face. “Dislocated my shoulder last week,” I answer. “I chose him for his inability to relent,” Sgaeyl reminds me. “Not helpful at the moment. Do I need to remind you of what he’s carrying?” “Fine. But only so this conversation ends.”
Every few years, a squad comes along that defies all expectations. They rise through the ranks, secure every patch, win every challenge. And then…they inexplicably falter, then fall. They call it the burnout effect: they flare too fast, too bright to sustain the pace. Sad, really, but mildly entertaining to watch them turn on one another.
“If someone was trying to get news out, they’d send one leaflet like this to the printing press to be approved by scribes,” I tell my squadmates quickly, knowing our time is short. “Once approved, it would take hours to set the blocks to print unless multiple scribes worked on it. But this isn’t official. There’s no seal. So either it’s fake and printed for just this class—which is a lot of work—or it’s real…and not approved.”

