Barracks 4 was colder than the hallway. The vent over Rina's bunk was still cycling on a maintenance loop nobody had bothered to fix because the bunk was empty and the work order would just sit. Her sheets were folded the way the medics had folded them. The room had started treating the bunk like a memorial. Caleb hated that more than the cold.
He dropped his bag beside his footlocker.
The envelope was sitting in the middle of his pillow.
It was thick. Heavier than paper had any business being. The wax seal was silver, pressed with the First Division crest, and the whole thing smelled faintly of vanilla, a smell that had no place in this building.
He cracked the seal with his thumb.
A card slid out. Gold foil along the edge, black ink pressed deep into the stock. He read it once.
The First Division Sponsor Appreciation Gala.
Three nights from now.
Formal attire required.
He turned it over. The back was blank: official paper with a rich person's weight behind it.
