The fourth member of her team, another girl, was standing to attention, her eyes focussed on a point of the wall somewhere above Mitzi’s head. She was shaking like a leaf. “Ellen.”

Mitzi squinted at her. She looked different, somehow, than she had when Mitzi had entered the room. It took her a minute to pin down what it was; the girl’s long white-blond hair had been tied up into a tight knot at the top of her head.

“What happened to your hair?”

The girl swallowed, and her eyes flicked to Mitzi before she turned them back to the wall. “Loose hair has no place on the battlefield, Captain.”

Mitzi chuckled, nodding slowly. “Good. You’re almost certainly going to die, but at least you won’t look like a moron when you do.”

The final passenger was the only other member, apart from Mir, who had remained seated. His face was unhealthily thin and angular, and his bony hands gripped a small paperback book, which he seemed to be reading furiously.

“Name?” Mitzi asked, folding her arms as she leaned over him.

The boy swallowed but didn’t speak.

“It’s Eoin, Captain,” the girl to his right whispered. She looked terrified to be speaking out of turn.

“Is it, now?” Mitzi purred, turning back to her. “Do you want to tell me why he’s reading a book during a debriefing that could keep him from becoming Cymic food?”

Mitzi had kept her voice low, but the girl flinched as though she’d been yelled at. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“Uh-huh.” Mitzi glanced at Eoin again, but he was focussed on his book. “That better be a damn good story, kid.”

Mitzi returned to the head of the room, taking languid steps, then swivelled neatly to face her team. “I’d heard Central had lost almost all of its best fighters, but I didn’t realise they’d lost the mediocre ones, too. I’m not going to lie; none of you are giving me much confidence. It’s abundantly clear you don’t have any experience, except for Captain Hotshot over there, who’s probably going to trip and shoot himself the first chance he gets. You’re all screwed.”

She darted her eyes about the room, searching for the spark of defiance, the look of I’ll show you that almost inevitably followed her harsh words. There was none. Adam had lost the cocky smirk and looked bitter and frustrated. Mir, still seated and pale, had her eyes fixed on the floor, seemingly deflated. Franc and Skye both looked anxious. Eoin hadn’t turned the page on his novel since she’d entered the room. His eyes were fixed on the same spot, and sweat coated his forehead. Ellen, the girl beside him, had her head bowed deeply and turned away.

Cripes, is she actually crying?

Mitzi felt a knot of guilt build in her stomach as she realised her tactics had been completely backwards. She’d used the shtick she employed against trained fighters who would buck her if she gave them any leeway. But these people weren’t fighters; they were kids—and one middle-aged accountant—who’d been coerced into a war they didn’t want to fight. And they were terrified.