Seren sat on the opposite cot, rewrapping her hilt in fresh cord, fingers moving with careful, habitual economy.
"You think this is a real mission?" she asked, voice flat.
Soren shrugged. "Real enough that there's a body count. Not real enough anyone above Dane cares who makes it back."
She finished the wrap, tied it off, and set the sword across her lap. "Kale's already betting on who drops first. He says you, but only because the twins convinced him there's a curse on your squad slot."
"There's a curse on him if he says that loud again," Soren said. "You ready?"
Seren looked at him, and for once the facade slipped a little. "I want to be," she said, "but I think they're hoping we fail in a different way. Like the test isn't survival, but what we do when there's no one left to punish us for failing."
He liked her logic. It matched the sense of every briefing, every hollow speech from Dane. "You ever think of not coming back?" he said.
