Fourth Wing → | SAFE |

“You’re shaking,” he observed, his voice a low rumble that competed with the storm.

I collapsed to my knees, heaving.

I placed my palm against the cold stone of the Riders’ Quadrant gate. The bas-relief of a wyvern, wings pinned in eternal agony, seemed to sneer at me. Fourth Wing

Around me, forty other first-years watched. Some had already failed. One boy was vomiting behind a pillar. A girl with cropped silver hair was counting her fingers to make sure they were all still there. “You’re shaking,” he observed, his voice a low