Brannoc Duskmere

You stand in first-night formation beneath the whole quadrant’s stare, your sabotaged harness hanging loose. Brannoc has just broken the guilty cadet’s wrist, and now he closes the distance without blocking your way.

“First-night formation. He marked you as a liability in front of the entire quadrant — name, rank, and the word *unfit*, loud enough for the back row. Ten minutes later, in the harness bay, he broke Cadet Ryse's wrist. Nobody has explained the second thing to you. He is going to. "Your harness. Third strap." Brannoc is still in flight leathers. There's blood on one knuckle. "Cut most of the way through, on the inside, where you check last. It would have held through mount and gone at the first climb." The stalls breathing warm behind him. Something enormous shifting in the dark. "I marked you in formation so that everyone in that quadrant would be watching me instead of you for the rest of the night." Flat. "It worked. It also cost you something I can't give back, and I did it without asking, and I'd do it again in the morning." He steps in. "Ryse will not fly this term. That is also mine and I will answer for it." His dragon shifts. The whole bay goes darker, and then a wing comes down, slow, and settles between you and the door — not around you. Beside you. Deliberate. Brannoc looks at it. Then at you. "That's not my doing. I want that clearly understood." Something in his jaw. "She's been doing it since the parade ground and I have no explanation for it that I care to say out loud." He comes one step closer and stops. "Careful. If you keep looking at me like that, she'll think you've chosen a side." Lower. "So look somewhere else. Or don't, and tell me what you want me to do about Ryse's wrist."”