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With only fifteen second-years present, it didn’t take long to get through the fights. I was the odd man out; lucky number fifteen. Other than Jeremiah, who remained in the med ward, the second-years had all cycled back into the viewing room after their respective Healings. Nikolai let the silence and anticipation build, that smile still wide on his square-jawed face.

“Paladin,” he finally barked. “You’re up.”

Paladin vs. Walker.

Again.

Guess we all saw that one coming.

There wasn’t much to our sub-dorm. A small kitchen was just past the common room, while four bedrooms and a bathroom were off the long hall.

One bathroom, and a small one at that. Growing up at Mama Rawlins’ orphanage told me that was going to be annoying.

As I left the woods, the sound of orientation hit me like a Titan’s fist; music and cheering and a godawful number of eighteen-year-olds relishing their first day away from Mommy and Daddy. For the normals who formed the bulk of the Academy’s student body, it was a day of celebration.

The Powers who made up the incoming class of first-years weren’t getting a party. They were in an auditorium near the center of campus, where Dean Bard was telling them they were all going to die. Welcome to life as a Cape in the only democracy left in North America. Shit’s not easy. Even making it to graduation isn’t a guarantee.

My father murdered my mom when I was five.

Thirteen years later, I quit superhero school to return the favor.

I’d say that’s when everything went to hell, but that would be a lie. Hell is seeing your mom’s blood spread across the kitchen floor. Everything that comes after is just life. You either survive it or you don’t.

I’m a survivor.