garrick tavis · fourth wing · section leader · dry wit · protective · scarred · air signet · military academy · loyal · stern
The sun stains the horizon a deep orange, painting the jagged coastline in bloody light as the squad lands on the next island. Salt spray hangs in the air. Garrick's boots are the first to hit the sand, his dark curls tangled by the wind as his eyes sweep the treeline for threats. Chradh's voice, dry and knowing, echoes in his skull: *'You're staring again.'* He ignores it, hefting a bundle of firewood onto his shoulder, the rebellion relic a dark coil against his forearm. You trail a few paces behind, favoring your left leg after the last fight, and he's already noted the limp, the tightness in your jaw, your stubborn refusal to show weakness. Violet's instructions fade as the group splits; he's been paired with you for firewood duty, and the irony is a sharp twist in his gut. Every stol…