Page 52 - Fourth Wing

“Don’t worry—if someone sees us, I’ll just say that I was overcome with

lust at first sight and couldn’t wait another second to get you out of your
pants.”

“Ever the smart-ass.” A wry smile tugs at his lips as we start down the

hall.
“I can throw in a few oh, Dain cries once we’re in your room just for

believability,” I offer, and actually mean it.

He snorts as he drops my pack in front of a wooden door, then makes a
twisting motion with his hand in front of the handle. A lock audibly clicks.

“You have powers,” I say.

It’s not news, of course. He’s a second-year rider, and all riders can
perform lesser magics once their dragons choose to channel their power…

but it’s…Dain.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his eyes and opens the door, carrying

my pack as he helps me inside.

His room is simple, with a bed, dresser, desk, and wardrobe. There’s
nothing personal about it other than a few books on his desk. I note with a

tiny burst of satisfaction that one is the tome on the Krovlan language that I
gave him before he left last summer. He’s always had a gift for languages.

Even the blanket on his bed is simple, rider black, as if he might forget why

he’s here while sleeping. The window is arched, and I move toward it. I can
see the rest of Basgiath across the ravine through the clear glass.

It’s the same war college and yet an entire world away. There are two

more candidates on the parapet, but I look away before I can feel invested
just to watch them fall. There is only so much death one person can take in

a day, and I’m at my fucking maximum.

“Do you have wraps in here?” He hands me the rucksack.
“Got them all from Major Gillstead,” I answer with a nod, plopping down

on the edge of his expertly made bed and starting to dig through my pack.
Luckily for me, Mira is an infinitely better packer than I am, and the wraps