He frowns at me. “Well?” he asks. “And your name is?” I pat my throat twice and sign to him. “I’m Talin. I can’t speak.” I don’t expect him to understand what I said. But his eyes widen—and then he smiles and signs back. “Good. All Striker apprentices must learn how to sign,” he answers. “You know that, right?” I remember everything about that moment—the movement of his hands through the air, the easy way he took in my soundless words, the kind smile on his face. I knew that Ghosts on the warfront had powerful hearing, but I didn’t know that Strikers used sign language to communicate out
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