The morning after our return from the mainland, Braxton stood before us in the Onyx Hounds' common room. Gone was his typical lazy slouch and perpetual boredom. His spine had straightened, shoulders squared, jaw set. He looked like a completely different person—a commander, not a burnout.
The air reeked of cheap coffee and nervous sweat. No one spoke. Even Raphael had stopped his usual posturing and muttering. We all sensed something had changed.
"Listen up, puppies," Braxton began, his voice cold and flat. "This isn't a field trip. The academy calls this a 'joint training exercise.' That's a lie. This is a public execution, and you're the ones on the chopping block."
Juan yawned from the back of the room. "Drama queen much?"
Braxton's eyes snapped to him. "A C-Rank Blue Gate opened last night on the northern edge of the training grounds. Tomorrow morning, you'll be entering it alongside the Argent Sentinels."
