Lyra had been in some ridiculous situations in her life.
Standing at the front of the training barn with a piece of chalk and a row of teenagers staring at her like she was about to announce a surprise exam was still a new flavor.
“Okay,” she said, turning to the board where she’d scrawled WARDS 101 in big, uneven letters. “Ground rule number one: if you make fun of my handwriting, I make you run laps.”
A few smirks. Maeve rolled her eyes but stayed quiet. Jared and Mei sat together in the second row, conspicuously not looking at the far wall that faced the inner line. A handful of other twelve‑to‑sixteen‑year‑olds from both “born here” and “came later” families filled the benches.
Cassian leaned against the back wall with Nia, arms folded, clearly there “to observe” and absolutely to
