The heavy iron gates of the Blackthorn Academy groan open, a sound that usually signals the return of a patrol or the arrival of a UN delegation. Today, it signals something entirely new.
I stand on the balcony of the Administration Wing, my heavily bandaged hands gripping the cold steel railing. The morning air is crisp, smelling of damp earth and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone, but beneath it, there is a new scent. It smells like nervous sweat, diesel exhaust, and the faint, sweet hum of adapted genesis energy.
Three sleek, armored UN transport buses roll through the gates.
They are carrying the first cohort of the Adapted.
Kade steps out onto the balcony. He is dressed in the formal, dark tactical uniform of the Alpha, the silver insignia gleaming on his collar. His left sleeve i
