MELISSA’S POV

As soon as I arrived at the dormitory hallway, the smell of dust, sweat, and soap hit me. Strangely, I found it oddly comforting after the brutal yard work outside.

The walls were bare stone, scarred with claw marks and the faint scorch of training mishaps. Doors lined both sides, their wood worn down by countless recruits before me.

I dragged myself to the number carved into my slip of parchment: 12-B.

The door creaked open, and for one blessed second, I thought I had the room to myself.

Then I noticed him, he was sprawled across the bottom bunk, hands laced behind his head, boots still on...