Bright Morgan stood in the eastern yard at dawn, his new Private insignia still feeling unreal on his chest.
Five silhouettes waited ahead of him—his squad.
His squad.
The weight of that still hadn't settled.
He inhaled and stepped forward.
They stood in a loose half-circle, each carrying different expressions—doubt, curiosity, irritation, and for two of them… open resentment.
A lance corporal's voice echoed behind him.
"Private Morgan. Your fledglings. Evaluate them, establish order, then begin your first directive."
Bright nodded.
"Understood."
He walked off, leaving him alone with the five strangers who would now fight, bleed, and maybe die under his command.
The booklet left behind by the lance corporal gave a brief introduction to their quirks and abilities.
But they still introduced themselves in an orderly fashion.
Lira Kehl
At her early twenties. Tall, sharp-eyed, braided hair tied tight behind her.
She was relaxed, but Bright could tell—it wasn't respect.
