Adam sat in the Vester library—a small, poorly maintained collection of technical manuals and outdated texts—with his thoughts scattered.
The Academy rejection had hurt. Hurt worse than he'd expected, worse than his cold pragmatic assessment suggested it should.
Because for all his detachment, for all his carefully cultivated distance, Adam had wanted this. Had wanted escape, advancement, the chance to become something more than a baseline human with a rifle and an albeit decent intelligence network.
Now he sat with his calculations, working through a problem that most would consider already solved.
How do I still get to the Academy?
The official selection was final. Fifteen slots, fifteen names, no appeals process. The convoy would eventually depart, carrying the chosen candidates to Central, and Adam would remain in Vester until attrition or transfer or simple grinding survival claimed him.
That was reality.
