He helps me to my feet. Everyone else is scurrying to don their boots and make up their cots. Across from us, Iván bumps his head on the top bunk in his hurry to situate himself. I hope he’s not as tired as I am.

I join them all in the fray, shoving on my boots. I slip the key down my sock along my outer right heel and twist my foot around to test it. It chafes a little, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

Next, I flip out my blanket to appear as though I’m making up my cot, but it’s really to assess the damage in the light. The woolen fabric is blotched with black dye, which is already drying. So many recruits choose a blanket as one of their three precious items because the standard barracks issue is this cheap, thick, scratchy affair; a boon, in this case, because dye leaked through in only a few places. It’s ugly, but salvageable.

“What happened?” Aldo says, tucking in his shirt. “Your blanket . . .”

I shrug it off. “A prank.”

“Huh? Who would do—”

I’m saved having to respond when Guardsman Bruno stomps in. “To the dining hall,” he booms, “by bunk order. Eat fast. We have a big day.”

We line up. As I pass Bruno on the way to the mess, I sneak a glimpse at him. Did Guardsman Bruno poison Captain Bolivar? But my quick glance reveals nothing, save for a stern glare from beneath caterpillar brows.

We are served cornmeal mush again, and no one repeats yesterday’s mistake; we all shovel the slop into our mouths and wash it down with water as fast as we can. Within minutes, our bowls are scraped clean and we are marched out of the barracks and into the sand.

The arena has been transformed with obstacles. Near the weapons rack, a long wooden beam is suspended by hanging ropes—I’m guessing we’ll have to run across, adjusting for the sway. Beyond that is a giant cedar log that I assume must be rolled over the lumpy sand to a flag marker. Next comes a set of wooden hurdles, staggered at varying heights, followed by a net climb to a high platform. A landing area below the platform is cushioned by a pile of straw. After that, water basins are lined up four wide and ten deep, all filled to the brim. And finally, a wooden barrier juts from the sand, surpassing even the height of the surrounding walls.

The arena walls aren’t as thick with onlookers as they were yesterday, but they still hold a fair-sized audience. News of whatever happens today will be all over the city by nightfall.

News of my humiliation, that is. Even if I’d gotten a full night’s sleep, even if the morning was cool and breezy instead of brick-oven hot, I’m not strong enough to roll that log, and I’m not tall enough to get over that barrier. I have no idea how I’ll pass this course.