The regroup point wasn't a structure. It wasn't even a trench.
Just a gash in the hillside where the soil had broken open, shallow enough to crawl into, deep enough to not die immediately.
A few hunks of dead wood lay stacked against the wall, maybe to hold the slope. Maybe to give the illusion of cover.
Merlin stumbled in and immediately hit knees.
Blood soaked through his shirt. His side had started to throb again. The pain was honest, almost comforting.
Other cadets were already there.
A girl with a broken nose was crouched in one corner, fingers trembling around a strip of bandage she didn't know how to use. Her boots were soaked in someone else's blood.
One of the older boys sat against the far wall, muttering something about "converging lines" and "back flank exposed," over and over like a prayer.
Another girl, darker hair, sharper posture, met Merlin's eyes.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
They were all breathing. That was enough.
