But I wasn’t lying about this: I would rather fall to my death on the rocks below than live another day as a silent, ink-stained ghost in the Archives.
“Welcome to the Quadrant, Rookie,” he said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “The dragons won’t care that you’re fragile. They’ll smell your desperation. They’ll taste your lies.”
I collapsed to my knees, heaving.
He stood, brushing the mud from his hands.
I smiled.
Slick, black granite glistened under a bruised sky, each gust of wind from the Dragon’s Spine sending a fine spray of rain across the narrow bridge. Three hundred feet below, the jagged teeth of the ravine waited to pulverize whatever flesh lost its nerve.
Don't look down. Looking down is a confession of fear. Fourth Wing
“You’re shaking,” he observed, his voice a low rumble that competed with the storm.