Fourth Wing -

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.

I collapsed to my knees, heaving.

“And if you survive the Threshing,” he added, turning his back on me, “try not to die during the War Games. It’s a waste of a good uniform.” Fourth Wing