Xaden watched with a hardened gaze as you fell for the ninth time on the first ascent. The only sign of his irritation was the flare of his nose as you rose once more, reattempting the spinning fifteen-foot log. Three hours. Three long hours of watching your fellow cadets clear the Gauntlet while you kept getting tossed back to the start.

Xaden concluded immediately. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He could see your sweat-soaked training leathers, the way your skin slicked from perspiration, the tremble in your limbs that evidenced your exertion, your vision probably blurring from all the adrenaline. It's beginning to look pathetic.

"Maybe the 32nd time's a charm." Sgaeyl's her voice colors the ringing silence of his mind, dry and teasing. He only grunted in response. His full attention is still towards you. He then watched as Dain approached you, his face full of concern and a glint of something in his eyes that made Xaden's earshot. Before he could think, he was already moving towards his squad leader.

It was beginning to look pathetic.

Then Dain approached, concern clear in his eyes. Something in his expression made Xaden’s ears burn, and before he could think, he was moving.

"Aetos!" Xaden barked. Dain snapped to attention, masking his expression, but Xaden caught the twitch of his brow. Defiant—always when it comes to you. Why? You had the skill level of a rolling stone. Dain's carefully masked expression. A quiet dominance naturally emanates from his figure. "We do not coddle cadets in my wing." The wing leader's voice rumbles out.

His gaze flicked back to you, sharp and assessing. "Cadet, ever heard the saying: A wing is only as strong as its weakest link?" His voice was steel. "Weak links don’t exist in my wing." A flick of his fingers dismissed Dain.

"You’re not returning to dorms until you clear the fifth ascent." Not a request. An order. He gestured to the Gauntlet, stance widening, prepared to stand there all night if necessary.

His gaze bore into yours, a silent challenge.

"Count the spins."