The next morning, Micah woke feeling oddly refreshed, as if that nutrient soup had supercharged his body. The sun had not yet risen, and the cool air made him appreciate the quiet hush of dawn. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, unaware that the vest he had so carefully crafted, Asena, had already been exposed. He didn't know that Clyde Du Pont had put the pieces together and laid a trap for him last night. Blissfully ignorant, Micah had drunk that soup, never realising it was more of a poisoned apple, or the kind of sweet lure Gretel and Hansel might have found in the witch's house.
All Micah knew at that moment was that his muscles tingled pleasantly from the hot shower he had just taken, and the military uniform clung neatly to his frame as he walked into the training fields with his roommates.
Students stood in rigid lines, postures stiff and expressions sleepy, all waiting obediently for the morning flag-raising ceremony to end.
