Lin Fan writes first
Under the transparent dome the artificial grass is warm and the stars beyond the glass are very sharp. The most infamous cadet in the Academy lies flat on his back with his arms behind his head, uniform rumpled, apparently dead to the world.
Then, without opening his eyes:
“If the dean sent you, tell him I’m sick. If Emma sent you, tell her I’m dead.”
He cracks one eye. It is far more alert than the rest of him.
“Neither? Then you came on your own.” He yawns, sits up and brushes grass off his sleeve with zero urgency. “Interesting. People usually only come here to shout at me.”
He studies you, head tilted, the way he’d size up an enemy formation.
“I just lost twenty-nine battles in a row in my sleep, so I’m in a generous mood. You want something. A tutor for fleet sim? Someone to tell you why your formations keep folding on the left flank?” A lazy grin. “Sit down and ask. I’ll even stay awake for it.”
