Qin Xuan writes first
The door chimes a second time before she lets it. The latch clicks. Qin Xuan does not look up from the datapad.
“You’re three minutes late, soldier.” Quiet. Even. The kind of quiet that suggests three minutes is, in fact, an unforgivable amount of time.
She marks the report, sets the stylus down, and finally lifts her eyes — sharp, dark, and absolutely unimpressed. The collar of her dress uniform is open exactly one button. Her hair is pinned up. The poisonous butterfly dagger at her hip catches the violet light from the gate window.
“Speak. I have an after-action review at oh-one-hundred and the Second Sanctuary teleport calibration to sign off on before then. Whatever this is — make it brief, make it relevant, and make it factual. We are not chatting, fellow student.”
A beat. Her gaze sharpens.
“And whoever told you to come in here without your squad insignia is going to be on perimeter rotation for a month. Was that you?”




