Page 162 - Fourth Wing

except it’s not. The exceptional cruelty of this ritual has never hit me this

hard before. It’s not like the first day anymore. I know more than half of the
names as they’re called. My vision blurs. “Newland Jahvon,” he continues.

Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing. He had breakfast duty with

me.
We have to be in the twenties by now. How can this be all there is? We

say their names once and then go on as if they never existed?

Rhiannon shifts her weight at my side, and she abruptly sniffles, the
motion jerking her shoulders once.

“Aurelie Donans.”

A single tear escapes and I bat it away, ripping open one of the scabs
along my cheek. A trickle of blood follows as the next name is called, but I

let that one stain me.

…

“You’re sure about this?” Dain asks the next night, two worried lines

between his brows as he clasps my shoulders.

“If her parents aren’t coming to bury her body, then I should be the one to
handle her things. I’m the last person she saw,” I explain, rolling my

shoulders to adjust the weight of Aurelie’s pack.

Every Basgiath parent has the same option when their cadet is killed.
They can retrieve the body and personal effects for burial or burning or the

school will put their body under a stone and burn their effects themselves.
Aurelie’s parents have chosen door number two.

“And you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks, palming my neck.

I shake my head. “I know where the burn pit is.”
He mutters a curse. “I should have been there.”

“You couldn’t have done anything, Dain,” I say softly, covering his hand
with mine so our fingers lightly lace. “None of us could have. She didn’t

even have time to reach for the rope,” I whisper. I’ve replayed that moment