Just as he was trying to decide whether his father would shed any tears, his Codex flashed a message. His High Garda orders had arrived. This morning, he was to report to Captain Niccolo Santi’s company, which would become his permanent assignment for the next year. He stared at it for a long, strange moment, wondering what in God’s name the Archivist intended by granting him what he’d wanted, and was startled out of his chair when someone knocked loudly on his door.

Glain stood outside, and when he opened up, she thrust her open Codex in his face. “Santi,” she said. He silently held up his own orders. “What does this mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing good.” He told her about Dario and Khalila, and Glain paled under the deep tan she’d acquired. “We need to go to the Lighthouse.”

“We can’t,” she said, and pointed to his orders again. He’d stopped reading after seeing Santi’s name, but she was right: there was more. “We’re ordered to report for duty. Now.”

He and Glain made it to the parade ground just in time and were intercepted by someone Jess recognized: the centurion who’d helped them on the exercise ground, when Helva had been hurt and Tariq killed. Centurion Botha.

There was no recognition or even interest on Botha’s face as he stepped into their path. “Orders,” he snapped, and Glain briskly flipped her Codex open to show them. Jess followed a second after. Botha examined them and the imprint of seals embossed under, and shoved the books back into their hands. “Century Two, Blue Squad. Report to your squad leader.”

Over Botha’s shoulder, Jess saw Captain Santi, who was listening to a lieutenant intently. He looked very different now from the man who’d been defending Wolfe; all traces of that emotion had vanished, and he wore command like an invisible crown. No time for mere new recruits.

Glain had already saluted Botha and turned away, and Jess quickly followed suit and moved off at a lope after her. They both knew the standard configurations of a company, and finding Century Two, then Blue Squad, was simple enough. The squad leader there watched the two of them step into formation with cool, judgmental eyes. “Nice new uniforms, recruits,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll beat the creases right out of them. Welcome to Blue Squad.”

Around them, the other members of the squad gave a deep-throated bark in unison. The squad leader smiled. “Also known as the Blue Dogs. I’ve looked at your scores. Not bad. We’ll expect better, of course.”

The young man—two or three years ahead of us, Jess thought, but with the air of someone twice his age—turned with that very brief greeting and walked to take his place in the rank, at the far right of their squad. Jess, standing on the end of the line, had a good view of the platform where Santi stood. He was gathered now with his centurions, and at his nod, the centurions jumped down to walk the ranks.