Collin smirked, pushing himself up. “Right. Nothing says survival like out-eating the men who actually want to be here.”
“Exactly. If we’re going to suffer, we should at least do it on a full stomach.”
Collin turned to Dragonfly, patting her shoulder, his fingers lingering on the ridge of her collarbone. “Shall I get you something?”
She smiled up at him, her eyes warm. A smudge of dirt clung to her cheek, and he longed to reach out, to brush it away.
“Another piece of bread and some of that gravy would be nice,” she said.
He nodded, reluctant to pull away—but he did.
Collin eagerly devoured his second helping, and when the jolly-looking cook began bellowing about the abundance of leftovers, he didn’t hesitate to go back for a third.
Nearly two hours later, most of the guards had vacated the tent, returning to their duties. Yet Tate and Spencer had not come to collect their groups. The pavilion had dwindled to a dozen late-arriving guards, the cook scooping leftovers into smaller trays, and a handful of women in white aprons wiping down tables and gathering used dishes and cutlery.
Collin shifted on the bench, wincing. His body was beginning to protest in earnest. The next few days would be a battle—not just for his endurance, but for his ability to move at all. His muscles burned, his neck and back ached, and even his tendons seemed to creak and groan as if he were a decrepit old man.
And now, to top it off, a headache was building behind his eyes—slow, steady, relentless. It felt as if his skull were tightening, squeezing his delicate eyeballs from their sockets with every breath.
A guard arrived to fetch the cadets, introducing himself as Morr.
Ah, so this was the guard Nic had easily outperformed during the assessment.
Morr’s manner was friendly—too friendly. He asked for their names with an easy smile, his tone light, almost conversational. But something about him felt off.
Collin couldn’t quite place it, but the guard’s charm carried an edge, like quicksand—harmless on the surface, luring its victim in before revealing the trap beneath.
Beside him, Dragonfly shuddered.
Collin glanced at her, startled to see the color drain from her face. When Morr asked for her name, she answered quickly, eyes averted, her voice barely above a whisper, and Collin could feel her fear, though he didn’t know why.
Morr led them out of the tent, past the changing stalls, toward a small building. On the way, he struck up casual banter with Gravis, his tone still unnervingly pleasant. When they reached the storage shed, he handed each of them a rake.
“Your job is to even out the field,” he instructed. “Anywhere the sand isn’t level. Spread out and no chattering. Social hour is over. I will be watching and reporting your diligence to your commanding officer.”
Collin gripped the rake, his arms sluggish, his body protesting the movement. His stomach was overly full, the gentle afternoon sun too warm on his back, and the rhythmic scrape of metal against sand only lulled him further into exhaustion.
Sleep tugged at him, heavy and insistent.
He wasn’t the only one struggling. Every so often, his mind and body jolted out of a comfortable lull as Morr’s voice cut across the field.
“Dragonfly, keep moving.”
“Nic, stop leaning on your rake.”
Collin knew his own name would follow—he didn’t bother lifting his eyes.
He moved like his joints were rusted shut, his muscles aching with every drag of the rake. Still, they managed to make progress, the teeth of their tools forming neat, uniform lines across the vast expanse.
By the time the sun dipped below the clearing, Morr finally excused them.
Collin was so wiped out that even changing his clothes felt like an impossible task. He managed a short grunt of farewell to his friends before slogging homeward, his feet dragging with every step.
When he staggered through the front door, Aries was already home—slumped over the dinner table, completely asleep. Hisshirt was missing, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, and his shoulders, neck, and back bore the telltale signs of sunburn.
Collin barely registered the sight.
He dragged his depleted body into his bedroom, too exhausted to wash, change, or even undress—he collapsed fully clothed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
