I don’t entirely trust him not to smother me with them by accident. Or let’s be honest, on purpose. The Noctryns still aren’t my number one fan.
Veils, either, for that matter.
I’m really killing it at the whole “fitting in” thing.
We stand off to the side waiting for instructions as we watch second through fourth-years battle it out. The sound of a fist meeting a jawline, followed by a grunt, reaches us from one of the sparring sessions close by.
I stand a little straighter as a handful of captains and majors walk our way, each signia standing out in stark contrast to their uniforms. A red C or M rests on each of their shoulders.
Two Veils and three Noctryns stop directly in front of us. Their eyes look us over.
Appraising.
Evaluating.
Judging.
A Veil with unruly hair and boyish features steps forward. “Hello, first-years. We’ll be assigning you to your sparring partners,” he says. His hands are clasped tightly behind his backwhile he paces in front of us. “Today is just an introduction to the course and what it has to offer. That being said, we’ll be placing each of you with an upperclassman. Some will be placed with officers and others with peers.”
Wonderful.
Not only am I not a strong fighter, but pair me with an experienced one and I’ll be face-to-the-mat more often than not.
The major starts calling last names along with their sparring partners. “Porter with Wren.” The general’s son. I don’t personally know him, but I’ve heard the rumors that he’s just as slimy as his father. I wouldn’t mind watching the match go down between him and Koa.
He steps forward, moving to his designated spot. He’s on the shorter side with lanky limbs. Mousy blond hair and bland features make him completely forgettable.
“Vivinche with Ieilen,” he calls out next.
The major continues to go down the line until it’s just me and another first year.
“Caderyn and Adair,” he says.
I lift my chin and step forward.
He jerks his head for me to follow a Noctryn captain standing to his left.
We pass by duos battling it out and walk around upperclassmen doling out instructions to first-years. He leads me to an area in the back, cloaked in low lighting and more secluded than the other training areas. A dark wielder rests on his knees while he wipes blood from his mouth. Another stands shirtless, his back facing us, while he quenches his thirst.
I immediately know who it is without even seeing his face.
His back ripples with muscle. Beads of sweat work their way down his trim waist. But it’s the unapproachable air surrounding him that gives away the identity.
“Adair, your sparring partner is ready,” the captain delivers before turning to leave.
The man on the mat rises from his knees and walks over to my new partner. They exchange a few words before he takes his leave as well.
We’re all alone. Lucky me.
He tips his head back, taking another long drink before turning to face me.
Stoic.
Detached.
Indifferent.
His eyes give away nothing but take everything.
