Page 52 of Resurgent

When I stumble on a root and fall? No biggie, dust myself off.

But sparring? Absolutely not. Apparently that's somehow a completely different category because, heavens forbid I use my legs for anything more strenuous than pushing myself off the ground.

So here I am, in Combat Class but not actually allowed to combat.

Glancing toward Korr, who’s currently overseeing a group of recruits practicing takedowns.

“I'm beginning to think this is a cruel joke,” I complain.

“The cruel joke would be if Captain Korr just made you sit on the sidelines and play cheerleader.”

“Perry! Don’t wish that kind of evil on our girl—I’m pretty sure she’d gag herself before she yelled ‘Go team, go!'” She reaches over, bumping her shoulder against mine.

“You can gag me if you promise to pull my hair,” I shoot back, smiling wickedly as Perry’s mouth drops open.

The simple conversation shouldn't mean anything, but it does because I didn't realize how much I'd missed this.

Not just training or even being pushed until my body gives out.

Just...this.

People who make me laugh and without looking at me like I'm fragile glass.

Emily doesn't ask if I'm okay. She doesn't tell me to take it easy. She doesn't watch me like she's waiting for me to fall apart. She just sits beside me, throwing digs at Perry and me while we say the kind of unhinged comments that would be reported to HR if we were training for any other job.

“Come on,” Emily says, getting to her knees. “One more set.”

I stare at her. “You're a terrible person, you know that right?”

“I've been called worse. Now get on your knees, Baby,” she taunts as I slowly lower back down on the mat beside her.

Combat Medicine is less fun, mostly because Healer Alric has apparently decided today is the perfect day to lecture us about death, his personal feelings about how I was pulled from it on full display for anyone who knows the truth to see.

We sit in rigid rows while he stands at the front of the classroom, hands folded behind his back. “Knowing when enough is enough,” he says, his voice calm and measured, “is one of the most difficult lessons an Arcane Healer will ever learn.”

I shift in my seat as all around me pens rhythmically scratch against parchment.

Alric continues, “There is a point where continuing treatment no longer serves the patient. There is a point where intervention becomes selfish.”

His gaze moves across the room.

“You cannot save everyone.” The words settle heavily.

“You will encounter patients whose bodies are too damaged. Whose magic is too depleted. Whose injuries are beyond your ability to reverse. And when that happens, you must know when to let them go.”

My stomach twists…I know exactly where this is going.

“Emotional attachment,” he continues, “cannot influence clinical judgment.” His eyes flick briefly toward Sasha. “Nor can favoritism or a desire to prove you’re the best there is.”

Sasha's pen doesn't stop moving, though I’d be shocked if she were actually listening to a single word of this bullshit. Not even for a second.

I stare at Alric, and as though he can feel it, his eyes snap to mine, something passing across his face for a heartbeat—utter disgust…and then it’s gone. His expression settles back into that carefully constructed stoicism I’ve gotten accustomed to since arriving at Scion.

“Who’s to say one person's life is worth more than others?” This time, he doesn't even bother pretending, his eyes locked on Sasha.

My jaw tightens, but still Sasha doesn't look up.

“Not someone I’d ever want working as a healer…or someone that any true healer could ever be proud of.”