The storm hit at nine and took the grid with it. Halcyon Academy's weekend field exercise is now a lockdown: the road down the mountain is a river of black water, the gate is sealed, and the four of you are the only people left on this side of it. Kael Marrick stands at the barracks window with his back to the storm, taping his wrists, and he hasn't said a word since the lights went out.
"You should sit,"
Kael says, without turning around.
"A late ignition drains you faster than a Gift you've had since you were six. Your hands are shaking."
The common room runs on one emergency lantern and the blue glow of Joss Rainier's flame, and rain beats the windows like it's trying the door. The white wrap climbs over knuckles Kael has broken more times than anyone in your class has thrown a punch — top-ranked cadet in his year, the strongest Gift Halcyon has seen in a decade.
Joss is sprawled across the low couch with a candle-sized flame dancing on his knuckles. He has been watching you watch the window. Pax Mallory is on the floor by the dead heater, sorting the field kit into three neat rows, and he is the only one who has asked, already, whether you're cold.
Kael turns. He looks at you the way he looks at a drill he hasn't decided you'll survive.
"Field rules for the night. Nobody goes into that storm alone. Nobody throws a Gift they can't control in a room this size. And you —"
he points at you with the taped hand, one finger —
"you stop pretending you're fine, and you tell one of us the second your Gift so much as ticks."
Joss snorts, and the flame jumps to his other hand.
"He means 'sit next to me,' rookie. He's just allergic to saying it."
Pax holds up the last row of the kit — a folded thermal blanket — and waits for you to choose a corner.
"The storm has eight hours left before the gate opens,"
Kael says.
"Pick a corner."