The transition from fourteen to fifteen hit Grace like a high-velocity Luma-bolt. While the other recruits were busy worrying about their skin or the fit of their dress uniforms, Grace had simply sharpened. The soft edges of her childhood had been filed away by the Forge, a beauty that was jagged and striking—sharp jawline, eyes that burned like black, Shiny onyx, and a posture that screamed of someone who lived by the blade.

  It was a Tuesday when the first casualty of her new look occurred. A third-year recruit named Mark, who usually spent his time trying to look brooding near the weapon racks, cornered her in the corridor. He held out a scented blue envelope, his face a shade of crimson that rivaled a cooling engine.

  "Grace... I, uh, I think you're the most incredible fighter here. I wrote this for you," he stammered.

  Grace didn't even stop walking. She just tilted her head, her hand resting habitually on her pistol holster. "Sorry, Mark. I’m not into guys. My brain doesn't have the bandwidth for it."

  She left him standing there, clutching his blue envelope like a broken shield. Sasha and Valin, who had been trailing behind her, shared a look. Sasha was stifling a laugh.

  Two days later, during a rare afternoon of downtime near the training pits, a soft-spoken girl from the Forge’s medical wing named Lyla approached Grace with a small box of handmade chocolates. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Grace, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the sector-observation deck with me tonight?"

  Grace offered a lopsided, almost apologetic smile. "You're really sweet, Lyla. But honestly? I’m not into girls. I think I’m just... missing that part of the processor."

  As Lyla retreated, Sasha threw her hands up in exasperation. "Okay, I have to ask," Sasha said, leaning against a rusted pillar. "You’re not into guys? You’re not into girls? What is it, Grace? Are you into ghosts? Do you only have feelings for training droids and Silas’s disapproval?"

  Valin chuckled, adjusting his Luma-brace. "Maybe she’s just waiting for a ghost that can out-spar her."

  Grace just rolled her eyes, taking a long, aggressive sip of her orange juice. "I'm into winning, Sasha. Everything else is just a distraction."

  The group was soon joined by Rose and Fin, who were accompanied by a girl with bright, energetic eyes named Cindy. Cindy had her arm linked firmly with Rose’s, a clear and comfortable intimacy that made Grace pause.

  "Hey, Hurricane," Fin said, bumping Grace’s shoulder. "Your fifteenth birthday is coming up. What’s the plan? We thinking of a celebration, or are you just going to fight a wall for ten hours?"

  Rose smiled, looking Grace over with an older sister’s pride. "You really are changing, Grace. You’re becoming more and more charming every day."

  Grace leaned back, the juice box suddenly feeling heavy in her hand. Charming. Sharp. She knew she didn't look like the girls in the magazines. She looked like a soldier. And then, as it always did when she thought about beauty, her mind drifted to the Sanctum.

  Mable.

  If she had grown up, Mable must have blossomed into something angelic. Soft features, blue eyes, and a voice that sounded like a song. She looked at Rose and Cindy, watching the way they leaned into each other, and a sudden, sharp sourness blossomed in her chest.

  Mable must be getting dozens of those letters, Grace thought. Thousands. The image of someone else—some polished, elite healer—handing Mable a blue envelope made Grace’s grip on her juice box tighten until the cardboard buckled. She won't accept them. She’s too smart to fall for that stuff this soon, she told herself, a desperate hope clawing at her throat. She didn't understand why the thought of someone liking Mable felt like a physical wound, so she just shoved the feeling into the dark corner of her mind where she kept her fear of Silas.

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  "We don't have time for birthdays," Grace muttered, drowning the rest of her juice in one go.

  The levity of the afternoon was shattered when Silas appeared at the edge of the Yard. His presence alone acted as a dampener on the noise.

  "Next month," Silas said, his voice carrying like a low-frequency hum. "The trials for the Dominance League begin. The official announcement drops within the week. If you aren't ready, don't bother showing up."

  He turned and walked away before anyone could respond. A week later, the drones confirmed it. A global broadcast flickered across every screen in the city, showing the map of the Silent Isle and the redesigned logos of the competing schools.

  Grace’s eyes locked onto the Aurelian Academy crest. She thought of Dave’s sneer and Winni’s laughter. I’m going to bury them, she promised herself.

  Grace was in the middle of a brutal high-intensity set, her katana whistling through the air, when Harkan stepped into the yard. He raised a hand, gesturing for her to kill the power.

  "Grace. Silas wants you in his office. Now."

  Grace wiped the stinging sweat from her brow with the back of her glove, her heart fluttering with a sudden, nervous energy. What did I do now? she wondered, racking her brain. She hadn’t accidentally short-circuited a drone in at least three days. Had she messed with his coffee again? No, she had been a model student—mostly—for at least two months. She straightened her posture, pulling herself up proudly as she walked. If she was going to be scolded, she’d do it looking like someone who had actually achieved something.

  She pushed open the heavy office doors. The familiar scent of old leather and ozone greeted her, but beneath it was something new—the earthy, wild smell of a damp jungle. Then, she heard a voice. It was deeper than she remembered, but the steady, calm rhythm was unmistakable.

  "You took your time getting here, Grace."

  Grace froze. Standing beside a stoic, iron-faced Commander Kael was a young man who looked as though he had been carved directly out of the mountain itself. He was broad-shouldered, clad in the heavy, battle-scarred plate of the Stone Bastion. His eyes held the quiet, grounded patience of a predator.

  "Caleb?" Grace whispered.

  Her face split into a genuine, radiant smile. She launched herself at him, and Caleb caught her with the easy, practiced strength of someone who had spent his childhood making sure she didn't fall off rooftops. It was a massive, bone-crushing hug—that "we actually made it" kind of relief.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" she crashed into her usual mile-a-minute talking speed. "Don’t tell me they fired you and you can’t be a defender anymore! Oh no! Don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll protect you. I've actually gotten pretty good with a blade, so you can just hide behind me—"

  Caleb didn't stop her. He just stood there, the Stone Bastion armor making him look twice as wide as he used to be, watching his friend with eyes that were a little misty. He had missed the constant noise of her voice. It was the sound of home.

  Silas watched the display with a look of pure bewilderment. He looked at Grace, then at the massive young man she was currently badgering, and let out a long, weary sigh.

  "Caleb is here with Commander Kael," Silas said, clearing his throat. "He came to discuss the coordination between our houses."

  Commander Kael leaned back, a rare, knowing glint in his eye. "I wasn't actually going to bring him. It was Silas who asked. He said it would cheer you up, seeing as tomorrow is your bir—"

  "That’s enough, Kael," Silas snapped, his face turning a sudden, embarrassed red.

  Grace stopped mid-sentence. She looked at Silas, her eyes wide and genuinely thankful. The grumpy old commander had actually gone out of his way to do something kind for her.

  "Commander, I—"

  "Out!" Silas barked, pointing a finger toward the door before she could get a single mushy word out. "Both of you. Get out of my office."

  A moment later, they were standing in the hallway, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them. Caleb blinked, looking at the wood, then back at Grace.

  "We got kicked out," Caleb said, completely stunned. He hadn't even had time to say a proper hello to Silas.

  Grace looked at his confused face, then at the door, and let out a loud, genuine laugh. Caleb joined in, and for a moment, they weren't soldiers or candidates—they were just two kids from the dust, glad to be standing next to each other.