Page 11 of Veiled

“The door’s unlocked,” I yell when I hear a soft knock that could only mean Sasha’s at my door.

“We’ve got twenty minutes to get to the parade grounds, find our spots for formation, and look like we know what we’re doing. You ready?” Sasha asks when she steps in.

“As I’ll ever be.”

We exchange a look, a mix of trepidation, determination, and a healthy hint of excitement, and head out the door for our first official day at Scion.

The halls are alive with students in various stages of alertness—half still fastening their uniforms, some with dark circles under their eyes like they haven’t slept in weeks, and the obvious Bravo Company recruits who are so put together they look like they were born in their uniform and move with a kind of unbothered precision, sharp eyes, and shined boots, that only daily repetition can give you.

Matt is waiting just outside the barracks front doors, leaning against the hand railing like he’s got nowhere else to be. He’s holding three steaming cups of coffee and has the most satisfied look on his face.

“Morning, Lee,” Matt greets with a shit-eating smirk as he passes me one of the cups. “And here I thought you’d be back to your masochistic runs every morning now that we’re free. Tsk. Tsk.”

How is it possible to love him so much and want to throat punch him simultaneously?

“You’re an ass…and an absolute legend,” I praise, taking another long drink of the liquid gold. “Remind me to put you in my will.”

He snorts, “I’m not sure I want to inherit your old boy band posters or your drawer of ‘toys’, but thanks.”

Next to me, Sasha chokes out a laugh, nearly whipping herself in the face with the hair she finally got into a high pony.

“I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done with my dignity, but if that coffee’s for me, I’ll consider naming my firstborn after you.”

Matt grins and hands her the second cup with a wink. “I like the sound of Matt Junior much better than the inheritance.”

Blushing slightly, she starts sipping.

“Mattey, this is Sasha, my new neighbor. So far, zero murder vibes, so things are looking good.” Now it’s his turn to choke, this time on his coffee, and I realize what I just said…good one, Annalise.

“Uhm, yeah. So anyway, Sasha, this is Matt…he thinks coffee or booze can fix everything, and annoyingly, in my case, he’s usually right.”

She gives him a little wave, and we join the herd of students moving down the path that runs along our barracks building toward the parade grounds behind the infirmary.

Tossing our empty cups into the trash, we fall into our squadron's assigned spot for formation that was marked in our folders. Sasha stands directly behind me, Matt directly to my left.

As the crowd finally stills, the clatter of boots is replaced by tense silence as we wait.

After a few minutes, the squadron leaders call each squadron to attention as three instructors and the dean walk out and stand in front of us. While their looks couldn’t be more polar from one another, it is obvious that each one could kill me without breaking a sweat.

Rather than talking to us, they stand with impatient looks on their faces, clearly waiting for someone else to arrive. Their eyes take turns flicking to the path we walked in on, but there’s no one there.

I take the time to observe each of the instructors while we wait.

Standing in the center, Dean Stevens, a woman with short silver-blonde hair, cut sharply to her jawline, stands in her own black uniform, her posture steel straight from years of military service. She put together a video for all of us in our welcome packets. It was…informative.

To her left is a short, stocky man with dark skin and a topknot, wearing long robes that mark him as an Arcane Healer and, no doubt, our Combat Medicine professor.

“That’s Healer Alric,” Sasha whispers to me. “He taught both my parents. They told me they once saw him stop and restart a girl's heart purely by touching her forehead!”

That can’t actually be true. Right?

Movement to our right draws the attention of the instructors, most of the female recruits, and I even hear a guy make a suggestive comment from a few rows over. A man—easily one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen—strolls down the path with the casual confidence of someone not concerned with anyone else's schedule. The Dean spots him first, her expression tightening before she gives him an annoyed nod and turns to face us fully.

“Welcome to Scion Military Academy, Charlie Company,” she announces, her voice clear but cold as it carries across the grounds with a voice amplification spell. “Over the next year, you will be tested in every conceivable way. We will strip away everything you believe you know about discipline, endurance, and your own strength. Some of you will discover your limits. A few of you may even learn to break through them.

“Scion exists for one purpose: to forge leaders who are capable of protecting not only themselves but all of Thandroan. Mediocrity is not only unacceptable—it is a one-way ticket to the afterlife, be that here or upon graduation. Regardless of your track, you will learn to be lethal, to trust your instincts when every voice, including your own, turns against you, and to understand that every day here is a privilege, not a guarantee.”

No one dares to speak, but I see several chests puff up and chins rise a little higher than they were seconds ago.