Page 101 - Fourth Wing

“We’ll be unstoppable,” Rhiannon declares, her gaze tracking Tara, the

dark-haired, curvy girl from Morraine, as she walks past our bunks.
I pull out a small book—no, it’s a journal—with a folded note on top that

says Violet in Mira’s handwriting. One-handed, I open the note.

Violet,

I stayed long enough to read the rolls this morning, and you aren’t on

them, thank gods. I can’t stay. I’m needed back with my wing, and even if I

could stay, they wouldn’t let me see you anyway. I bribed a scribe to sneak

this into your bunk. I hope you know how proud I am to be your sister.

Brennan wrote this for me the summer before I entered the quadrant. It

saved me, and it can save you, too. I added my own bits of hard-earned

wisdom here and there, but mostly it’s his, and I know he’d want you to

have it. He’d want you to live.

Love,

Mira.

I swallow past the knot in my throat and set the note aside.

“What is it?” Rhiannon asks.

“It’s my brother’s.” The words barely make it past my lips as I open the
cover. Mother burned everything he owned after he died, as tradition

dictates. It’s been ages since I’ve seen the bold strokes of his handwriting,

and yet there they are. My chest tightens and a fresh wave of grief sweeps
through me. “The book of Brennan,” I read along with the first page and

then flip to the second.

Mira,

You’re a Sorrengail, so you will survive. Perhaps not as spectacularly as

I have, but we all can’t live up to my standards, can we? All kidding aside,

this is everything I’ve learned. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden. You have to