Page 407 - Fourth Wing

For valor above and beyond the call of duty in the battle of

Strythmore, where her bravery resulted not only in the destruction
of a battery behind enemy lines but also saved the lives of an entire
company of infantry, I recommend Mira Sorrengail receive the Star

of Navarre. But if the criterion is not met, which I assure you it has
been, downgrading to the Order of the Talon would be a shame, but

sufficient.

—RECOMMENDATION FOR AWARD FROM

MAJOR POTSDAM TO GENERAL SORRENGAIL

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

“So all we do is wait for something to happen?” Ridoc asks the next

afternoon, leaning back in his chair and putting his boots on the end of the

wooden table that runs the length of the briefing room.
“Yes,” Mira says from the head of the table, then flicks her wrist and

sends Ridoc flying backward. “And keep your feet off the table.”
One of the Montserrat riders laughs, changing the markers on the large

map that consumes the only stone wall in the curved, windowed room. This

is the highest turret in the outpost, offering unmatched views of the Esben
mountain range around us.

We’ve been split into two groups for the day. Rhiannon, Sawyer, Cianna,
Nadine, and Heaton spent the morning with Devera in this room, studying

previous battles at the outpost, and are now out on patrol.

Dain, Ridoc, Liam, Emery, Quinn, and I spent the morning on a two-hour
flight around the surrounding area, with one extra tagalong—Xaden. He’s

been the worst kind of distraction since arriving last night.

Dain won’t stop glaring at him and making snide remarks.