Elowen POV
There are drills for everything at camp.
Conflict simulations.
Crisis response rotations.
Leadership theory.
Territory mapping.
There are even practice sessions for how to announce bad news without causing panic.
What they don’t teach you is how to feel when something hits close to home.
The letter came at midday.
Not sealed with coalition wax.
Not formal.
Just folded twice and passed quietly into my hands by one of the southern runners.
“From your territory,” he said gently.
My stomach tightened.
I didn’t open it immediately.
I couldn’t.
I carried it back to the healer’s wing and sat alone at the long slate table before unfolding it.
The handwriting was hurried.
Not T’s.
Not Mama’s.
The Beta’s.
Elowen,
Patrol shift at the southern border this morning. Mino
