I knew about Thornwick, of course. Everyone did. It was the border village that got hit hardest, year after year. The village that had begged for more protection and received cadets instead of soldiers. The village that buried more dead than any other.

Even from a distance, I could see the difference.

Where Aldermoor was prosperous and Ravenshollow was eerie and Coldmire was harsh but sturdy, Thornwick was... scarred. The wooden stakes around the perimeter were darkened with old blood. The buildings had a weathered, desperate quality to them. The people in the square watched our approaching wagon with eyes that held no hope—only a dull, grinding endurance.

These were people who had seen the worst of the rot and survived.

I felt suddenly, uncomfortably aware of how soft my hands were. How clean my clothes were. How easy my life has been.

"Thornwick," Cassius said quietly. He'd grown up in Coldmire, which had its own hardships, but even he looked affected. "My cousin lived here. Before."

No one asked what "before" meant.

We all knew.

The wagon rolled to a stop, and the Officials began calling names. I watched the volunteers step forward—faces hard, shoulders set, no tears, no drama. These were not people who wasted energy on goodbyes.

A stocky girl with auburn hair and a crooked nose climbed into the wagon, dropping onto a bench with a loud sigh. "Finally. I've been waiting for hours."

"You must be from Thornwick," I said.

"What gave it away? The sunny disposition?" She grinned, sharp and fierce. "Bryn. Combat track, if they let me pick. You?"

"Cedric. Strategy, probably."

"Ah, a thinker." She said it like it might be an insult, but there was no real heat behind it. "Well, don't think too hard around here, pretty boy. You might strain something."

"I resent the implication that thinking is difficult for me."

"Resent away." She was already turning her attention to the square, scanning for someone. "Where is that idiot—ah. There."

I followed her gaze.

And that was the first time I saw him. 

He was walking toward the wagon with a pack slung over one shoulder, honey-brown hair catching the light, face set in what could only be described as a scowl of magnificent proportions. He moved like someone who expected the world to get out of his way—and would make it regret the decision if it didn't.

There was something about him. Something that made my eyes want to linger. Something sharp and fierce and strangely magnetic.

"That's Emeric," Bryn said, noticing my gaze. "Don't bother trying to befriend him. He hates everyone."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

Well. That sounded like a challenge.

Emeric climbed into the wagon without greeting anyone, dropping onto the bench across from me with the air of someone who would rather be literally anywhere else. His blue eyes swept the interior, cataloging faces with cold efficiency, before landing on me.

Something flickered in his expression.

Distaste, maybe. Or judgment. Or both.

"You're staring," he said flatly.

"Am I?" I smiled my most charming smile. "My apologies. I'm Cedric. From Aldermoor."

The flicker became a flame. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was several degrees colder.

"Aldermoor."

"That's what I said."

"The village that's never been attacked. The one with the high walls and the private guards and the comfortable beds."

"I wouldn't say the beds are—"

"Save it." He turned away, dismissing me entirely. "I'm not interested in making friends with rich boys who volunteered for glory."

I blinked.

I was not used to being dismissed. I was not used to people being completely unaffected by my charm. I was not used to—

Actually, I was a little bit intrigued.

"What makes you think I volunteered for glory?"

"You're from Aldermoor. Why else would you be here?"

"Maybe I wanted to prove myself. Maybe I wanted to make a difference. Maybe I—"

"Maybe you wanted to play soldier for a few years before going home to your mansion and your servants and your comfortable life." His eyes met mine again, and there was something burning there—something raw and angry and strangely painful to look at. "You don't know anything about fighting. You don't know anything about loss. And you definitely don't know anything about what this actually costs."

The wagon had gone quiet. Everyone was watching.

I should have backed down. Should have let it go. He was clearly carrying wounds I couldn't understand, and pushing him would only make things worse.

But I had never been good at backing down.

"You're right," I said, and I kept my voice even despite the irritation prickling under my skin. "I don't know what you've been through. But I'm here, aren't I? I volunteered. I left everything behind to do this. So maybe—just maybe—you could wait to judge me until you actually know me."

Emeric's scowl deepened. "I don't want to know you."

"That's unfortunate. Because we're going to be living in the same compound for the foreseeable future, so you'll have to tolerate my presence whether you like it or not."

"I can tolerate your presence. From a distance."

"Distances are negotiable."

"This one isn't."

"We'll see."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe, that I wasn't backing down. That I wasn't intimidated by his sharp words and sharper glare.

Good, I thought. Get used to it.

"You're annoying," he said finally.

"I've been told."

"Incredibly annoying."

"Also been told."

"I'm going to hate you."

"You can certainly try."

Bryn, who had been watching this exchange with undisguised glee, burst out laughing. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Emeric shot her a look of betrayal. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I'm on the side of entertainment," she said cheerfully. "And this is the most entertaining thing that's happened all day."

He muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly uncomplimentary, then turned to stare out the back of the wagon in pointed silence.

I watched him for a moment longer—the tense line of his shoulders, the way his hands gripped his knees, the barely-contained energy that seemed to radiate from every inch of him.

Emeric from Thornwick.

He hated me. That much was clear. Hated everything I represented—the privilege, the safety, the comfortable life he'd never had.

And maybe he had reason to. Maybe his anger was justified.

But something about his dismissal had struck a nerve. Something about the way he'd looked at me—like I was nothing, like I was less than nothing—had ignited a spark of competitive fire in my chest.

Fine, I thought. Hate me if you want. But I'm going to prove you wrong.

I'm going to prove that I'm more than just a rich boy playing soldier.

I'm going to prove that I deserve to be here.

And if that meant driving him absolutely insane in the process?

Well, that was just a bonus.

The Bastion came into view on the evening of the third day.

It rose from the landscape like a scar—massive, dark, imposing. Stone walls stretched toward the sky, topped with watchtowers that gleamed with distant firelight. The main gates were iron and wood, reinforced with metal bands that looked thick enough to withstand a siege.

Which, I supposed, was rather the point.

"Home sweet home," Bryn muttered.

The wagon rolled through the gates, and I watched faces turn to track our arrival—older cadets, seasoned trainers, Officials in dark uniforms. Everyone assessing. Everyone judging.

We were the new blood. The fresh recruits. The ones who hadn't yet learned what it cost to fight the dead.

The wagon stopped in a central courtyard, and the Officials began shouting orders. Line up. Leave your belongings. Report to your assigned regiments.

I climbed out, stretching muscles that had cramped from three days of travel, and found myself standing beside Emeric entirely by accident.

He glanced at me sideways. "Don't think this means anything."

"Standing next to you? I assure you, it was purely coincidental."

"Keep it that way."

"I wouldn't dream of anything else."

He stalked off toward the forming lines, and I watched him go with a mixture of irritation and something else.

Something I didn't quite have a name for yet.

"Regiment Seven!" an Official bellowed. "All Regiment Seven cadets, form up!"

I made my way toward the gathering crowd and found, to my complete lack of surprise, that Emeric was there too. As was Bryn, and Seraphine, and Wren, and Cassius, and a half-dozen others I'd met along the way.

Twenty of us in total, gathered in a loose cluster, sizing each other up.

These are the people I'm going to train with, I realized. Fight with. Maybe die with.

These are my people now.

An older cadet—dark-haired, sharp-eyed, maybe eighteen—stepped forward to address us. She had the kind of presence that made you stand a little straighter without quite knowing why.

"I'm Astrid Vane," she said. "Regiment Two. I'll be showing you to your barracks." Her gaze swept over us, assessing. "Most of you won't survive the first year. That's just statistics. But if you train hard, listen to your superiors, and look out for each other, you might beat the odds."

A comforting welcome speech, then.

"Any questions?" Astrid asked.

No one spoke.

"Good. Follow me."

The barracks were exactly as depressing as expected—rows of narrow beds, thin mattresses, a single window that let in a draft. Twenty beds for twenty cadets. No privacy. No comfort.

I claimed a bed near the center of the room, because the center was where things happened. Emeric, naturally, chose a bed as far from mine as physically possible, in the corner by the window.

Running away already? I thought, but didn't say.

"This is cozy," Finn said, appearing beside me. He was the one from Brackwater—red-brown curls, freckles, gap-toothed grin. We'd spoken a few times during the march, and I'd decided I liked him. He had the same energy I did—loud, irreverent, absolutely unwilling to take anything seriously.

"It's a prison cell with more beds," I corrected.

"A cozy prison cell." He flopped onto the bed beside mine, which apparently made us neighbors now. "Could be worse. Could be the Pit."

"The Pit?"

"Underground training area. Zombie simulations." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I heard they use actual zombies sometimes. Chained up, but still. Actual. Zombies."

"That seems... unnecessarily dangerous."

"That's the Bastion for you." He grinned. "Unnecessarily dangerous is their whole brand."

I glanced around the room, watching my new squadmates settle in. Seraphine was already introducing herself to a nervous-looking girl with frizzy hair. Cassius was helping Lark reach a bed that was somehow on a raised platform. Wren had retreated to a corner with a book, clearly hoping to be ignored.

And Emeric...

Emeric was sitting on his bed, back against the wall, arms crossed, glaring at nothing in particular. He looked like he wanted to fight someone. He looked like he wanted to fight everyone.

He looked, I thought, like someone who was carrying so much anger he didn't know what to do with it.

What happened to you? I wondered. What made you like this?

As if sensing my gaze, he looked up. Our eyes met across the room.

I smiled.

He scowled.

This, I thought, is going to be a very interesting year.

That night, after the lights went out and the barracks fell into uneasy silence, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, training would begin. Tomorrow, we would start learning how to fight, how to survive, how to kill the things that had been killing us for years.

Tomorrow, my new life would truly begin.

I thought about my mother's trembling hands and my brother's fierce goodbye. I thought about my father's silence and the weight of expectations I'd left behind. I thought about Seraphine's grandmother, and Bryn's sharp grin, and Cassius's gentle eyes.

And I thought about Emeric.

You don't know anything about loss he'd said.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I didn't.

But I was willing to learn.

I was willing to prove that I was more than my privilege.

I was willing to do whatever it took to matter.

And if the angry boy from Thornwick refused to see it—refused to see me—then I would just have to make myself impossible to ignore.

I smiled in the darkness, a plan already forming in my mind.

Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow, everything begins.