The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the courtyard was still slick, the mud clinging to every bootprint like a memory. Faye Hawthorne stood among the rows of new recruits, soaked to the bone, her breath fogging in the early morning chill. Her uniform was neat, freshly issued, though her boots looked worn—real combat boots, not regulation. She stood straight, chin up, but her pale fingers fidgeted with the hem of her jacket when no one was looking.
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