Was his hand lingering on my lapel longer than it was supposed to? Was this some sort of test?

  Unlike the boys in the academy, this man would not be hanged for accidentally brushing against me as he circled my frame. Which he did, moving to the back of my body to continue his inspection.

  It was almost intimate when his palms brushed unseen lint from my back. Warming how big his hands felt when he tested the fit of my coat where it cinched in tight at my waist.

  And still, I held myself immobile. Far too nervous that he was waiting to catch me in some mistake.

  Was I supposed to push away from him? Was there a rule about male leadership I was forgetting?

  Light fingertips moved over me in the exact way ranking females conducted dress uniform inspections in the past, but it felt like so much more.

  Because this was illicit. Right?

  Did he see the question in my eyes when he came full circle, back to where this whole escapade began? He was certainly close enough, and there was no hiding the fact that my cheeks heated to an embarrassing shade of pink.

  Face hovering close to mine, Cyderial inhaled slowly before moving his fingers to conduct one final tug at the seams of my sleeves. “You smell of children. Yet there is not a single smudge or fingerprint on your buckle, buttons, or epaulet.”

  What?

  Tongue-tied, I caught myself searching for words and rushing my answer as all the air in my lungs suddenly rushed out. “The itty-bitties know to be careful with dress uniforms. They only give leg hugs to wish us well—in case they don’t see us again, sir.”

  He was smirking. “Itty-bitties?”

  I might have just died of embarrassment. Clearing my throat, cheeks going from pink to red, I corrected my blunder. “The youngest recruits, sir.”

  He made pointed, focused eye contact, a light touch on the cuff of my sleeve. “Do you enjoy the company of children?”

  Everyone likes children. Don’t they? They are hilariously clever in finding ways to play in this hellhole and, unlike the adolescents, had not yet grown jaded and depressed. Even when I was at my most agitated, time with the youngest helped me get my head back in order. “I enjoy the company of all my fellow recruits.”

  He gave a noncommittal hum before replying, “It’s a pity one of your fellow recruits did not inform you that your uniform is not up to code.”

  “Sir?”

  “It’s too tight. The seams are pulling.”

  It was hardly that dramatic. Sure, it was a bit snug around the chest, but I only had to wear it once more in the next six weeks. Then I would be granted the deep-gray of a graduate, and I would be free of the academy forever.

  And my sisters had warned me. They had even helped me bind my breasts painfully tight. That was what we all did when bodies altered faster than clothes could be adapted. And frankly, asking management for items outside of yearly regulation vestments was a surefire way to draw unwanted attention.

  Which went strictly against my rule of avoiding attention at all costs.

  “I shall place an order for a new jacket at once, sir.” My voice came steady, masking all sense of my irritation on the topic.

  Perhaps if they designed uniforms to fit a female body, tight material over a woman’s chest wouldn’t be an issue. Not that I had any intention of sharing my thoughts on the subject with General Cyderial.

  The man who was uncomfortably close and infinitely dangerous.

  Voice soft, he gave his next order. “Present your hands.”

  Easy enough, though there was barely enough space between us. Hands before me, fingers fully spread, I put my talons on display.

  They were buffed and shining, just as they were supposed to be. Clean, filed, and boring.

  I’d heard that human girls painted their nails in all sorts of colors for fun. Mine were merely the natural dark-gray shade most common amongst my kind. Though some girls did have lovely ivory talons.

  Theirs were kind of glittery, very pretty to look at. Much more interesting than common dark-gray.

  If I could paint my talons, the first color I would try is pink. But a vibrant pink. Adventurous and playful, leagues away from the bland world I was used to.

  A pink the general would hate.

  Paired with a floral dress, like I’d seen in one of my secret magazines, my long hair would be in a fluffed braid, hanging over my shoulder. My legs below the knee would be on display, skin and scales warmed by the weather.

  If I could just pass this last meeting without any more mistakes.

  Just about jumping out of my skin at the contact, the general did the unconscionable and took my hand in his. Turning them this way and that, inspecting the way the light shone off my buffed nails. The touching was unnecessary. No female instructor had ever done more than measure the length of the nail with a ruler to ensure they were short enough to be safe.

  He took it much further. Testing the tip to see if it was sharp, the man stupidly pricked his own flesh and brought forth a tiny bead of blood.

  Of course they were sharp! Razor sharp. It was why ladies could not wear white gloves like the men when in formal uniform.

  The minor wound instantly healed, leaving a bit of the general’s blood tinting the tip of my nail. But it would seem he was utterly unconcerned that his fluids were drying on my body, far more interested in the translucent webbing only visible at the base of my fingers when my hand was awkwardly spread for inspection.

  A hybrid feature less common in the dorms.

  When the man thought to trace over the sensitive membrane beside my pointer finger, I sucked in a quick breath. Sensation zinging stronger than anticipated, I snatched back my hand, indignant. Fist to my breast, I watched him with the same hyperfocus I’d use to observe a dangerous vorec testing the edge of the fog.

  He is absolutely up to something. And it set the tiny scales all over my body to tingling.

  An excruciatingly long, silent second hung between us, in which he stared, waiting for me to realize I had broken protocol—that he had ordered me to display my hands—and that I was to return them to him at once.

  I told myself this, the attempt at steady breaths useless with so much binding around my ribcage. Light and shallow, my breathing only displayed how unsettled I’d grown.

  But I needed to pass this test. And what had he really done besides crowd me and touch my hand?

  So, I offered it again, without apology or acknowledgment that things between us had gone wrong. Fingers spread, talons on display, webbing glittering with tiny scales catching the light.

  When he took my hand a second time, I did not startle. Instead, I employed the distraction of study to ignore how warm his touch was on my far colder appendage. I noted he did not have the same pretty webbing between his fingers. Nor did he have sharp talons.

  Blunt, trimmed nails. Useless and fragile. Yet, his hands were far more masculine. Much larger than mine. Dangerous in a different way. I could cut him to ribbons—he could crush me without a thought. Skin healed faster than bone, and in this, the general had the ultimate advantage.

  My palms were flipped upward, calluses on display. There wasn’t anything remarkable to see, but he took his time running a keen gaze over every bit until satisfied with what he found. It even seemed that while his hands cradled mine, he’d run his thumb over the inside of my wrist.

  If he’d felt my pulse, it was racing to a humiliating degree.

  I had killed countless vorec while on patrol over the years, and one jerk superior officer standing too close and touching my hands had me sweating as if I were about to be swallowed whole.

  Mercy came when his touch withdrew. Hands sinking to my sides, I found great relief in knowing the inspection was at an end.

  Yet weighty male attention landed once more upon my face. When he dared something beyond the pale, when he took my chin and began to study my features, turning my head this way and that, I confronted whatever it was that was going on.

  Breathless, I accused, “You are breaking the rules.”

  Still doing as he pleased and touching as he would, he gave an unmoved response. “Name the rule.”

  I… couldn’t. Stammering, I defended my unease. “It is an unspoken rule.”

  Another smirk yet no reply.

  My ears were observed. My hairline, the shape of my eyebrows. I swear he counted every tiny iridescent scale at the corners of both eyes.

  Next came my nose. The line of my cheekbone. Turning my chin up, his attention found my lips, which were tight with discomfiture.

  Meanwhile, I kept my gaze locked to the side, staring at anything but him while he did as he wished. I tried not to wonder what he thought of my features, assumed there had to be a reason for this, a flaw that needed to be addressed.

  “You have a new freckle.” The tip of his finger bounced softly once against my cheek. “Right here.”

  His tone had not been chastising. It had been spoken lowly, as if… in appreciation.

  My brows drew down tightly, and I did look at the man—the man who had tormented academy students for a decade—and my nostrils flared.

  That’s when I noticed it. Sweetness in the air, competing with the perfume of the toxic potted flowers dotted around the room. A smell reminiscent of the fog—dangerous and exciting.

  Distracting.

  Inhaling as deeply as the binding around my breasts would allow, I realized not only had I dismissed his touch on my face, but I had leaned close in my attempt to suck more of that scent into my body.

  It was him.

  Something emanating from him that I very much wanted to…

  To what?

  I was here to graduate. Shaking my head to clear it, I came back to my senses.

  Once I collected my wits from God only knew where, it seemed he was willing to ignore my momentary lapse in judgment.

  Not that he seemed intent on backing away. Instead, he grew conversational about his thoughts on my features. “It is rare for a hybrid to possess dark eyes. The majority of us possess the green shades of a vorec. You take after your mother. You could almost pass for human if not for these little secrets.”

  The webbing, the scales, the lack of body hair, the talons.

  But… what did my appearance have to do with any of this? Why was his voice so raspy?

  Even more concerning, why did I feel a small tinge of warmth when he noticed how closely I resembled my birth mother? I had a secret pride that I shared features with the human: her straight, thick hair. Her dark eyes. The yellow undertone of her skin.

  A way we were still connected, even if we could never be together.

  Suddenly, it was as if the previous softness in his voice had never been between us. In his usual direct voice, he said, “Your medical records display an excellent adaptation to the vorec integration. You developed without fault.” My chin was set free, the general taking a measured step back. “Physically perfect.”

  Wasn’t that the point of creating us? Physically perfect killing machines designed to keep the human population alive.

  “However,” he continued, “you did not pass inspection.”

  Because of the jacket?

  I’d burn that damn jacket should it cost me the fog.

  “But that is not why I am failing you. Private Lorieyn, your request for graduation has been denied.”

  4

  Astonishment crushing my composure to bits, I blurted out a high-pitched, “You’re failing me?”

  No! I had done the math to perfection. There was no way my marks were not enough to skim by with a little wiggle room to spare.

  Was it because I’d sniffed him? I might literally fling myself off the building if that was what ruined my life.

  Before I could begin to babble, he expounded his brutal edict. “This farce of ineptitude ends today. You will repeat courses and submit to an extended syllabus of my choosing. Until you achieve top marks, I will not allow you to leave the academy.”

  Devastated was not a strong enough description of what I felt.

  Horror twisted my face into one of desperation, and I was ashamed to admit my eyes had grown wet. “Sir, I don’t understand. I passed every course. Completed every level of combat training. I have been defending humans against vorec since I turned sixteen. When on patrol, there has never been an incident or a casualty on my watch. Not one in six years. No other student in this school can boast such a record.”

  There was no pity in that man. Instead, he sneered. “Your new duties will include assisting Weapons Instructor Dirum in training the youngest recruits. You clearly demonstrate more skill in the field than you’ve shown in your classes. There must be something to your technique”—he met my eye, daring me to object—“if a student of your lackluster marks has never let a human worker die on her watch.”

  Damn it!

  “And, did you not just admit that you enjoy the company of children?”

  I did not offer a “yes, sir,” and it was noted by my superior, who waited… and watched.

  Insubordination was not tolerated at the academy. But what did I have left to lose, when he had ruined everything I’d worked so hard to achieve?

  Never argue with that man.

  Just agree and do what you wish in privacy to the limit that you can.

  Like making a damned dress out of rags.

  And bolt your door.

  Don’t wander at night.

  Yet I could not restrain myself from pathetically begging him for mercy. “Please.” My lips trembled, the dark eyes he had just commented on filling with tears. “General Cyderial, please.”

  I should have known better than to expect compassion from that man. “Should you adequately educate the children and stop wasting my time pretending you only have a general grasp of the course work, I will consider your request for graduation in a year or two. You, Lorieyn, will not be placed outside your true skill level.” The bastard had the nerve to smile. “Though I commend your many years of effort to mislead your instructors. You’re quite cunning.”

  The way his eyes sparkled, my flagging self-control barely restrained me from thumbing them right out of his skull.

  And I? I willed both of my hearts to stop beating so I might die before he saw me cry. “Sir, I think you’ve overestimated—”

  “I wondered how a mediocre student thought she might have the skill to tutor a boy failing trigonometry. Yet it would seem upon further analysis that your math skills are quite incredible. But your system grew too exact. I have been analyzing your overly consistent results for years. You always score in the low eightieth percentile. I suspect that during examinations you mentally answer every question, tally the point system to achieve your desired result, and laugh your way through fudging your written answers on purpose.”

  That was exactly what I did, and as far as I was aware, not one instructor ever questioned my ranking nor cared.

  Provoked, as I always was with the memory of that night, I had gone from weeping to full-on hiccupping spite. “I have been paying attention too. Hear me when I say that I have no interest in a leadership position, nor will my scores ever support one. Even you can’t do that.”

  Or could he?

  The blood all drained from my face. Of course he could. Otherwise, he would not have made such a threat in the first place.

  “And you listen to me, Lorieyn. I can keep you in this academy for as long as I so choose. And I do choose. You will stay here until your scores reflect your skills. You will not be placed at a rank unworthy of your name. What is another year or two, when our lives are ageless?”

  I didn’t want an ageless life!

  “Reputation and rank mean nothing to me. If I wanted those things, they would be mine already. I have worked so hard to get to this point.” Which was utterly ironic, considering my machinations to avoid the very topic of my skill. “You're right. I manipulated the tests. I have a goal.”

  That confession earned his full, snide attention. “Then tell me what you want.”

  To disappear into the music outside. “The fog.”

  The way his expression slammed closed made it clear the fog would be forever denied me.

  I had overplayed my hand and lost.

  But I could not stop myself from blathering on. “I want to be a surveyor. There is so much to explore on this planet.”

  Had I not known how cruelly the general operated, I might have thought his tone conveyed some hint of apology. But he would not waste such a thing on me. “You may be of age, but you are still naïve. It isn’t safe in the fog, even for someone of your natural skill. Not a single surveyor has served more than fifty years before they’ve been lost.”

  It didn’t matter. Knocking at my breastbone, I was passionate to explain. “But they would be my years.”

  The familiar closeness he’d subjected me to—before he ripped out my hearts—ended. Taciturn, he moved behind his desk and took a seat, measuring me with disapproval. “No.”

  I was in my twenties and had never had the opportunity to make a solitary significant choice about anything in my life. The general had made every single one for me. On a very real level, that was why I resented him the most. Pouring every ounce of hate I’d harbored for the man into a loathsome glare, I made it clear exactly how little respect I had for him.

  General or not.

  Fist banging against the desk, he barked, “Do not think I enjoy having to act in the role of parent. You’re willful, and it has been quite the undertaking to manage you in the decade since we met. You scheme, you have little faith in authority, undermine the very leadership that is eager to help you thrive. I have report after report of insubordination in the guise of compliance. Not every instructor is as gullible as you seem to think. Instead, they are patient. Because, like you, they too grew up in the academy and understand exactly what it’s like within these walls. You are not the only brilliant student who craved the fog and was denied a foolish suicide.”

  I closed my eyes as if that might make him disappear, more tears falling down red cheeks.

  General Cyderial was having none of it. “We’re not solely human, Lorieyn. We have been mixed with the apex predator of this planet for a higher purpose. For survival. The primitive vorec live in the fog. Millions of other violent species live in the fog. Do not let your animal instinct override your human sense. Use your thinking mind. What point would it serve to allow you to traipse around in the dark for a few months of fun if it would ultimately lead to your death? There is so much waiting for you here. Furthermore, you should know better than most why unmated females cannot go into the fog. Vorec males do not understand that you are of a different species, or haven’t you noticed it's only males on full display charging right for you?”