Page 243 - Fourth Wing

his station, opting for fresh fruit that I know can’t be tampered with, just in

case he decides to take my approach to conflict and poison me.
“Asshole,” Ridoc mutters behind me. “I still can’t believe they tried to

kill you.”

“I can.” I shrug, taking my chances with a mug of apple juice. “I’m the
weakest link, right? Unfortunately for me, that means people are bound to

try and take me out for the good of the wing.” We head toward the Fourth

Wing section and find a table with three extra seats.
“Mind if we—” Ridoc starts.

“Absolutely! It’s yours!” A couple of guys from Tail Section scurry off

the bench.
“Sorry, Sorrengail!” the other says over his shoulder as they find another

table, leaving this one empty.
What the hell?

“Well, that was really fucking weird.” Rhiannon rounds the other side of

the table, and I follow, putting our backs to the wall as we step over the
bench and sit, setting our trays in front of us.

I’m half tempted to give my underarms a whiff to see if I smell.
“Even weirder?” Ridoc remarks, gesturing across the hall toward First

Wing.

Following his line of sight, my eyebrows lift. Jack Barlowe is being
squeezed out of his table. He’s forced to stand as others take his seat.

“What the hell is going on?” Rhiannon bites into a pear and chews.

Jack moves to another table—whose occupants won’t make room for him
—and then finds a place two tables down.

“How the mighty have fallen,” Ridoc notes, watching the same show I

am, but there’s no satisfaction in watching Jack struggle. Feral dogs bite
harder when they’re cornered.

“Hey, Sorrengail,” the stocky girl from First Wing I beat in my second
challenge says with a tight smile as she walks past our table.