Miracle's POV
The bonfire roared, casting dancing shadows on the faces of the formerly masked men. They were just regular people, after all. The ringleader, a man with a scar under his right eye, stepped forward.
"Which of you has the guts to walk up and stick your hand in this?!" he yelled, pointing to a cauldron of shimmering, unknown liquid.
I leaned toward Hardy and Cami. "Is it just me, or does this feel more like a cult initiation than military training?"
"It's the Ceremony of Identification," Cami whispered, hugging her arms tightly. "I've heard stories. I've never seen one."
Hardy looked impressed. "You've heard of it? Most people like… us… never do in their lifetime."
"I'm a foster kid," Cami explained, her eyes flickering to me before back to Hardy. "We didn't have parents to teach us about our… ancestors. We had to rely on books."
