Page 83 - Fourth Wing

“Yes.” He nods, sending a few locks of black hair into his eyes, then

shakes his head. “No. Never mind.”
“So decisive,” Luca—the catty first-year in our squad I’ll do just about

anything to avoid—mocks from next to him, tilting her head as cadets laugh

around them. A corner of her mouth tilts up into a smirk, and she flips her
long brown hair over her shoulder in a move that’s anything but casual.

Like me, she’s one of the few women in the quadrant who didn’t cut her

hair. I envy her confidence that it won’t be used against her, but not her
attitude, and I’ve known her less than a day.

“He’s in our squad,” Aurelie—at least I think that’s her name—chastises,

her no-nonsense black eyes narrowing on Luca. “Show some loyalty.”
“Please. No dragon is bonding to a guy who can’t even decide if he wants

to ask a question. And did you see him at breakfast this morning? He held
the entire line up because he couldn’t choose between bacon or sausage.”

Luca rolls her kohl-rimmed eyes.

“If Fourth Wing is done picking at one another?” Professor Devera asks,
lifting a brow.

“Ask what altitude the village is at,” I whisper to Rhiannon.
“What?” Her brow furrows.

“Just ask,” I reply, trying to keep Dain’s advice in mind. I swear I can feel

him staring at the back of my neck from seven rows behind me, but I’m not
going to turn and look, not when I know Xaden’s up there somewhere, too.

“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon asks.

Professor Devera’s eyebrows rise as she turns to Rhiannon. “Markham?”
“A little less than ten thousand feet,” he answers. “Why?”

Rhiannon darts a dose of side-eye at me and clears her throat. “Just seems

a little high for a planned attack with gryphons.”
“Good job,” I whisper.

“It is a little high for a planned attack,” Devera says. “Why don’t you tell
me why that’s bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail? And maybe you’d like to ask