“It will take a few hours for the telekinetics to arrive,” he said. “A delay caused by the lax standards currently plaguing this office. If Colonel Windstriker had been pushing you harder, more of you would have already reached the higher levels of the Legion. And I wouldn’t have had to call in telekinetics from the other offices.”

He wouldn’t have had to call in telekinetics from the other offices if he hadn’t brought down the ceiling of the sunken city.

“Fortunately, I don’t believe in coddling my soldiers like Colonel Windstriker does. The Legion needs more strong, high-level soldiers with powerful magic. This is what your training is about. Improving the soldiers, strengthening the Legion. Nyx was wise to bring me in. Your previous leader just wasn’t getting the job done.”

Drake stomped down on my foot. I choked down my croak of pain—and the comment I’d been ready to dish out to Colonel Fireswift.

“There will be a promotion ceremony in the ballroom in one hour. Change into appropriate clothing for the ceremony. Some of you will be tested.” His mean eyes flickered to me. “But only those worthy of a new gift of magic will survive.” And on that happy note, he dismissed us.

“That hurt,” I said to Drake as we returned to our apartment. “You have a big, heavy foot.”

“It would have hurt more if I hadn’t stopped you from mouthing off to Colonel Fireswift.”

“And who said I was going to do that?” I challenged.

“Your expression was screaming it loud and clear.”

“Well, Colonel Fireswift was too busy basking in the spotlight to notice.”

Drake laughed, then we entered the apartment.

Ivy and Soren were sitting on the sofa when we came in. They both rose to their feet.

“Did you see this list for the promotion ceremony?” Ivy asked, her voice strangely solemn. “It goes on for pages.” She scrolled down the screen of her phone, showing us the endless lines of names.

“There are over fifty names on it,” Soren said. “At most ceremonies, there are only a handful of people up for promotion.”

“A mass promotion?” I wondered, pulling out my own phone to look at the list.

“You’re on it,” Ivy told me.

“A promotion? Colonel Fireswift must like you more than you think,” Drake teased me.

“No, this is Nyx’s doing. She put my name there.” My stomach twisted into a hard knot. “And I’m not sure this is the time for congratulations.”

“She’s right. This is all very unprecedented,” Soren said, a crinkle forming between his eyebrows. “I’ve been at the Legion for over a decade, and I’ve never seen so many names on the list outside the initiation ceremony.”

The initiation ceremony was a culling. It was the Legion’s coldhearted way of slamming the door in the faces of those with not enough magical potential. Except it wasn’t a door slamming. It was the lid of a coffin. Over half the people had died at my initiation ceremony, and I’d heard other ones were much worse. So much suffering and death. So many lives destroyed. Just thinking about it made me sick to my stomach.

“The Legion is usually so careful about waiting until someone is ready before giving them the gods’ next gift,” Soren continued. “If a soldier is not ready, the Nectar will kill them. The Legion sees that as a waste.”

“Colonel Fireswift has a different philosophy,” I said.

“Indeed.” Soren frowned. “He is pushing hard. This could be a bloodbath.”

Colonel Fireswift had informed everyone that attendance was mandatory at the promotion ceremony, so consequently the ballroom was packed. These ceremonies were always at night. It felt weird to be wearing evening wear and nibbling on dinner appetizers in the morning. I guess the Colonel didn’t feel like waiting to get his leveled-up soldiers.

An orchestra was playing a light, uplifting piece, a contrast to the wild snowstorm raging outside. Skirts and tuxedo tails turned and twirled across the dance floor. The dancers’ steps were practiced and precise, but their eyes were distracted. Everyone was wondering why so many of us were suddenly up for promotion at once. Anxiety, excitement, and curiosity battled it out for the dominant emotion in the room.

“You look pretty,” Ivy told me as we crossed the ballroom arm-in-arm.

I was dressed in a sleek red evening gown with slender spaghetti straps. The dress was cut to fit my curves down to my hips, then it flared out in cascading ruffles, like a flamenco dress. I’d complemented the look with a pair of black strappy heels and by pulling my hair up into a bun adorned with a rose.

This was the outfit I’d bought awhile back hoping Nero would see it when the time came. But he wasn’t here. This was all wrong. It felt off—the whole morning, the ceremony. Nero not being here. He’d never not been there for one of my ceremonies. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a sign, that something bad was going to happen to me.

And it wasn’t just me. There were so many people up for promotion. Trying not to wonder which of the faces I passed would not survive the morning, I kept going.

Ivy turned left at a tall urn stuffed with bundles of giant scented decorative sticks that smelled of oranges. “I’m going to talk to Daz. I think he needs a pep talk.”

Daz was one of Soren’s friends. He was up for level five, and he didn’t look like he was sure he’d survive the test. Ivy joined him and Soren beside the cheese table. Within seconds, his tense muscles noticeably relaxed. Ivy had a knack for calming people down. She’d make an excellent counselor. Thanks to Colonel Fireswift, our office had never been more in need of a counselor than right now.