Rafael's Point of View
The sun is out again, sharp and glaring after last night’s storm, but it does nothing to ease the weight pressing against my chest. My boots scrape against the gravel as I walk beside my father, Dorian. His strides are long, deliberate, his shoulders squared like a man carrying the world, but his silence is heavier than anything the storm left behind.
“You have grown careless,” he says finally, his tone clipped, as if the words themselves are a judgment. “A border breach happens under your watch, and instead of taking charge, you follow orders like a soldier.”
My jaw tightens. “I am a student, not a commander. Border security is not mine to lead.”
He cuts me a cold glance, eyes like steel. “And that is exactly the problem. You are too comfortable being told what
