“Don’t say it,” I warned as Edgar and Cora entered my room.

We’re on week three now, in case you’re wondering.

“You look like-”

Before Cora could finish, I chucked my book at her head as hard as I could. Disappointingly, it flopped to the ground a few feet in front of me. The worst was over, but I was still weak as a kitten.

“-shit,” she finished, smirking.

I rolled my eyes and tried not to pant from exhaustion.

“Gonna hazard a guess and say you’re still not up for walking,” Edgar said, frowning.

“I can make it to the bathroom by myself, at least,” I replied.

“Beats a bedpan,” he said.

“I thought you Brutes were supposed to be, like, super strong and resilient,” Cora said.

“Most Brutes figure out they’re Brutes before they hit puberty,” I pointed out. “I’ve barely had time to learn how to use magic.”

If there’s one good thing about being bedridden, it’s that you get plenty of time to read. The Soldier, who goes by the name Jimmy in polite company, sent over several texts about magic. Go figure, this stuff’s a lot more complicated than you’d think at a glance.

Take us Brutes, for instance. It’s well known that Brutes are bigger and stronger than baseline humans, even at the upper end of the bell curve. This is partly passive. Even without knowing who or what I was, I still hit 6 feet tall in middle school, and I topped out at a respectable 6’4”. My muscle mass has always been on the dense side too, so while I never looked particularly bulky, I’ve been close to 300 pounds my entire adult life. That threw the Army’s BMI tables for a loop, lemme tell you.

Brutes who learn about magic before they hit puberty are taught how to use the active component of our power to reach their full growth potential. A true Brute stands between seven and eight feet tall, weighs close to 500 pounds, and has a vastly altered skeletal structure. Not only are their bones far more dense, pound for pound they’re stronger than steel.

On top of that, the ribcage grows and expands into something more like the ancient Roman’s’ lorica segmentata, or segmented armor. Instead of traditional ribs, they’re interlaced slabs of steel-hard bone that completely encase the vital organs, while still allowing the torso to bend and flex. A fully developed Brute doesn’t need body armor. They can stop rifle rounds with their ribcage.

I didn’t have that. Nor did I have their innate ability to ignore pain, or shrug off most poisons and diseases. Jimmy’s notes said we could work on that part, at least, but for now, I was stuck in a wheelchair if I wanted to leave my room.

And since we were scheduled to meet with the Eldest in an hour, that meant I’d have to endure a whole afternoon with Cora, without being able to “accidentally” punch her again.

“Hey, so long as you can speak your piece, that’s good enough for me,” Edgar said with a grin. That sick bastard was probably looking forward to pushing me, since it meant an extra workout for today.

“I wrote down everything like you said, and I compiled the numbers as best as I could,” I said.

You’ve probably read the cliffnotes version above by now, assuming this all gets published in order. I also did a detailed statistical analysis to try to bring something like hard data to back up my conclusions. Look, I may have spent my whole adult life as a grunt, but logistics and data management are sort of my jam. Not the most exciting hobby, I know, but it sure as hell beats getting shot at.

“Here’s hoping the Eldest listens,” Edgar said with a grimace. “He agreed to meet with us when I sent up my report about your findings, but…”

Yeah. No one else was willing to take me seriously. Edgar knew enough of the game, having made it to First Lieutenant before getting out, to realize I was onto something. Most Hunters don’t have the luxury of trying to keep a battery of redlegs (read: artillerymen) fed and supplied during field problems. We have people for that, and they’re not really in a position to make critical decisions.

“All we can do is try,” I said.

“Look at you two, being all grim and conspiratorial,” Cora said. “It’s enough to warm the cold, shriveled lump of rock that serves as my heart.”

“I call bullshit,” I said.

“Eh, fair. Now c’mon, I want to get done in time for chow.”