“Well maybe you should!” John retorts. “I’d bet my life savings half of these so-called Recruits would be packing their bags tomorrow.” He jabs his thumb into his chest and slings one arm over Ellin’s shoulder. “Us Mistins are tough-skinned though, aren’t we sis? In fact, I think it’s a bit chilly out there. Knew I should’ve packed an extra coat.”

I furrow my eyebrows and give John a sideways glance. A minute ago he was complaining about how hot it was, now this? This guy is nuts.

“You don’t have an extra coat,” Ellin says, the hint of a smirk pulling at her mouth. “I don’t think you even own any coats.”

Still chuckling to herself, Victoria leads us down a set of stairs lined with dark-blue strips of light, then into a short tunnel. She flashes her ID in front of a scanner, and we mimic her example. The panel blinks white each time.

We ride an elevator to the main floor. The room looks remarkably like the Hall of Treatises, except that there’s no pillar at the center. Offices line the perimeter and there are more elevators to more floors, and other corridors lead to other rooms.

“This is the Pavilion,” Victoria says. “It’s the only room in the Embassy where it’s legal to approve treatise proposals. Nothing gets through without thorough analysis.” She points at me and Michael. “One of you will spend a lot of time here when we aren’t traveling.”

My mouth twitches. I hope it’s not me.

A middle-aged man meets us next to the registration office. He scratches at the thick brown beard straddling his chin and adjusts his round glasses.

“Right on time, Lieutenant,” he says. “People’re actually following the schedule this year. Marcine just came through with the batch from Emlid.”

“Good to know,” Victoria says. She glances at the line of Officials blocking the registration office. “Shoot me a message when you’re done.”

She slips into the office ahead of the line. The man looks down at me and Glacia and makes a throaty chuckle.

“Nice seeing some young bloods mixed into a batch. I’ve had Latecomers all day s’far.” He shakes his head and pulls a holotab from his pocket, then squints at a list of our names and pictures. “Everyone’s been talking about you, Mr. Lance.”

I try to look amused, even surprised, but the truth is it bothers me. Yeah, I admired my father and his work, but nobody understands what it’s like to live under his name. What it’s like to never see him, and have to raise his daughters—my sisters—in his place. I don’t want that to be my future, to force Ladia and my children to live without me.