Chapter 15: Fangs and Cameras
They called it Media Day like it was a holiday.
A chance for the public to "see the future of heroism." That's what the holoscreen announcement said, the morning it pinged across every cadet wristband at 0600 sharp.
Mandatory participation.Uniforms pressed.Hair styled.Smiles ready.
Rook Vale didn't blink when the notification came through.He just turned off the alert and got dressed in silence.
The press staging area was worse than he expected.
Two dozen floating drones buzzed through the main quad, their lenses glowing red like watchful insects. Rows of cadets were lined up shoulder to shoulder under the vaulted glass canopy, each being mic'd and briefed by bright-eyed handlers with polished clipboards and thin, fake grins.
"Say something authentic," one woman chirped as she adjusted a student's collar. "But heroic, okay? We want to inspire, not traumatize."
Rook stood near the far edge, hands clasped behind his back, watching the performance unfold.
Aya Sparks leaned against a stone pillar ten meters away, half-lit by morning sun, arms folded, eyes shaded beneath her lashes. She hadn't spoken to him since their last late-night talk — not because she was distant, but because she was watching. Evaluating. Waiting.
Tessa was closer.
She stood in the second press row, smiling gently as a reporter fixed her microphone. She laughed at something the woman said, a soft, real sound that didn't sound practiced. Then her eyes flicked to Rook.