“Now it’s time for the night’s first introduction,” the Director says when the applause ceases. “It is my pleasure to introduce…General David Orcher!”

Director Estilon lowers his gaze to a door on the other side of the stage, below the balcony where Victoria is sitting. It slides up and Orcher walks out, one hand waving at the crowd. His stiff uniform hangs on his shoulders, and the golden cuffs and buttons twinkling in the spotlight. His dark gray hair is combed neatly.

Orcher stops in the center of the stage and claps with rest of the audience. As the applause settles, he begins.

“Tonight we honor this prestigious Recruit class. Did you know that—on average—they scored six percent higher than any Recruit class before them?”

He spreads his arms and welcomes another light round of applause and cheers.

“Remarkable, isn’t it? They have certainly proven their devotion. Of course,” Orcher adds, lowering his voice, “I wouldn’t put it past Officer Starmile to compile an easy exam. He does write each year’s Placement Report, after all.”

Orcher spots Lucas sitting in the front row of the audience and narrows his eyes in faux suspicion.

“You caught me, General,” Lucas calls out.

Orcher laughs and claps his hands once.

“All right: to business. Unfortunately, we have to fill an ambassador slot. Two Recruits are eligible for that position, so I’m sure it made the council’s job harder than they would’ve liked. All the way from Cornell, I give you misters Arman Lance and Michael Rafting.”

Both our faces appear on the screens. Neither of us is smiling, though I quickly try to. It comes off as awkward as ever.

“These gentlemen scored perfectly on the Placement Report, and have thus proved themselves worthy of such an honorable title. Furthermore, they each possess an acute knowledge of an ambassador’s responsibilities.”

Orcher says this last word sharply. His eyes fix on a group of men in the audience, who I recognize to be some of Undil’s other ambassadors. Three particular men smirk at Orcher before he continues speaking.

“It is with due consideration that Chancellor Green and his council have selected—”

I squeeze my kneecaps so hard that my knuckles stretch and turn white. Not me. Please not me.

“—Michael Rafting.”

I don’t move. I almost don’t believe what I’m hearing. Glacia nudges me.

“See?” she whispers.

I look at Michael: he seems fine with the selection…until Orcher summons him to the stage. The color drains from his face and he slides his hands over one another. Still, he stands and lumbers across the row to the aisle, knocking into several pairs of knees and avoiding eye contact with everyone watching him. When he finally reaches the stage, he wipes his hands on his pants before shaking Orcher’s.

“Congratulations, Ambassador.”

Michael clears his throat and bobs his head without really looking at anyone.