Read Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End for Free Online

no one now.
    Then I let it all out.
    I always forget how good it feels to give in to the loneliness. After, I’m refreshed somehow. Like I’ve emptied my heartbreak stores and they’re ready for refueling.
    I slowly brush my long, damp hair, already drying into waves from the de-mister. I clip the sides together in the back to keep it out of my face and leave the rest long. Who cares about ESE strict appearance standards now?
    The steam has cleared and I examine my 3D reflection in the TriVirror TM.33 . Bloodshot eyes. Pale skin, even paler than usual. I need to eat. My cheeks sport two red splotches, probably windburn. There’s a bump on my forehead and a trickle of blood down my chin. The damage doesn’t sit naturally on my face. Like it’s painted on. I clumsily apply seaming, and hope it holds.
    I dress in standard issue pants, but pass on the uniform’s casual shirt, opting instead for one of the few civilian tops in my closet, a short-sleeve, scoop-neck cashmere-gyrex weave. The soft mauve suits my mood, and I need something comfy right about now.
    Reluctantly I sit on the edge of my downcore, gulp down the now slightly congealed Taza Mud with a grimace, and check my com-tab for Missives. There it is: one from Command.
    Came while I was sleeping, a half an hour after the test.
    So soon?
    It states that I’m supposed to meet with the Academy’s Director Colonel Riku Sato at eighteen hundred hours in the Hub (ESE’s Central Command zone, which also houses the Academy council) in alcove A-12. That’s 20 minutes from now.
    I really don’t need to be asked to leave in person. I would be fine with a Missive. I can’t believe how badly they want get rid of me.
    King. I wonder how this reflects on him if, as I suspect, he’d vouched for me to be here. I cringe. Probably won’t see much of him anymore.
    I know I should put up a fight. Maybe I will. I could at least demand to know what the fuck they’ve done with my brother.
    Before I head to the Hub, I pop down the hall to one of the cadet feeding stations and poke around for something warm to eat. I find a few recently stocked items and grab the spaghetti and meatballs. Back, safe in my pod, I wolf the food down standing up, surveying my few belonging, including the first edition Charles Poris, a gift from Daz. My transport cases are in storage. I’ll need a couple more since I’ve added to my book collection over the past eight months.
    In a way, this is a relief. All the pressure, gone. Just like that. I won’t go back to the dome, though. I’ll register at a StayAway in the city. I’ll get a job administrating for an exo-importer or exo-lawyer. Take one day at a time.
    I check my face for spaghetti splatter in the mirror, all clear , and decide once and for all not to change into my full uniform (my way of flipping Command the bird) before I make my way to the Hub.
    I’ve never been to the Hub before, and I wonder if it looks like it does in the fancy promotional material the Academy gives prospective students. The Hub is ESE’s think tank, where the senior people or priority project teams work. It’s buried within the center of the giant sausage, presumably so that it’s less easy to target in case of an alien attack. I know, correction , I assume, that there are several layers of security within the station to prevent sieges. The rest of Command’s housed on surrounding levels. Surrounding those levels are the living quarters and on the remaining outermost levels, the Academy training facilities.
    The turbolift opens up to a long, narrow landing, and while the system searches to confirm my clearance, I take in the view. Officers are sitting or standing in groups around a dozen or more semi-circle workstations scattered within one round room. They hardly notice me as I move into the room after getting the go-ahead, following the directions on my com-tab to A-12. I notice that the Hub has better lighting than elsewhere on the station, and more