I stare out the bus window as we enter the capital of Luminark. It takes a little over two hours to get from Ashton to Axum, the heart of this nation. The towering buildings and polished pavements scream luxury. Even the poorest citizen here is worth thousands. People throw away extra food simply because they’re full—while Virex is—

  No. Stop, Azalea. Just stop.

  I can’t let these thoughts devour me.

  Not when I’m on my way to the arena to secure a job.

  Not after I prayed this very morning, asking my Creator for success.

  As the bus halts, I brace myself.

  Here we go.

  The Doctrine Association building looms overhead—the tallest structure among all three nations. I stand with a cluster of other applicants at the entrance, nerves tingling like static under my skin.

  In the crowd, I spot Javaria and Natalie waving. We grew up in the same Soran neighborhood, studied at the same school. Familiarity brings a sense of comfort.

  I approach with a smile. “How’s life?”

  Natalie gives a nervous smile. She looks on edge. Javaria, on the other hand, remains her usual, confident self.

  “Never been better,” she replies, tossing her hair back.

  We exchange a few words about our preparations.

  Natalie’s father has worked in Luminark for years. He’s a surgeon—right here under the Doctrine Association. Her face dims as she murmurs, “Some girls were saying this morning that just because my baba works here, I’ll be chosen automatically... that I won’t even have to try.”

  I gently squeeze her hand. “Ignore them, Nat. We both know how hard you’ve worked to be here.”

  Javaria nods. “If anything, you’ve got more pressure than any of us. Your father expects you to succeed to protect his reputation. That’s no small burden.”

  Natalie exhales slowly, her eyes shadowed with worry. “May we all pass.”

  “Your attention, please,” a sharp, clear voice cuts through the chatter.

  A tall woman in a crisp blue uniform steps forward, a mic clipped to her colr.

  “I’m Miss Costa, and I’ll be receiving all applicants today.”

  We follow her inside. A wide ptform leads into a grand central hall. Rows of desks are arranged alphabetically by name, spaced evenly. Around fifty of us in total. There are no signs warning against cheating or misconduct—but everyone knows: one mistake, and you’re out.

  I find my seat in the first row. Natalie is a few rows behind; Javaria’s desk is further away.

  When the bell rings, the exam begins.

  My hands tremble slightly. I inhale deeply—hold—then exhale slowly.

  Stay calm, Azalea. Focus.

  Exams aren’t just about answering every question. They’re about answering the right ones.

  For the next hour, I focus on the familiar: poisoning and treatment protocols, wound cssification, post-care procedures. I skip the harder ones—for now.

  ---

  “How was your exam, Az?” Javaria bumps my shoulder pyfully as we exit.

  “I’m not sure,” I admit. “You?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You always do well. I’m sure you’ll pass.” Then, grinning, she adds, “As for me? I honestly don’t care. If I get the job—praise to the Creator. And if I don’t—”

  She leans closer, whispering with a mischievous smile, “I’ll just kidnap a rich guy and threaten him into marrying me.”

  We both burst out ughing, the sound easing the lingering tension.

  But our ughter dies down when we spot Natalie a little ahead, speaking with her father. He wears the standard white coat over the blue uniform—Doctrine Association’s signature look. His tone is firm—too firm. Even from a distance, it’s clear he’s scolding her.

  Natalie mirrors him in many ways—same chestnut hair, piercing blue eyes—but the softness in her, that kindness? That’s all her own.

  Mr. Everton sees us but doesn’t greet us. He walks away briskly.

  We approach Natalie.

  “What did he say?” I ask gently.

  A tear slides down her cheek as she meets my eyes. “He told me I better not disappoint him. As his daughter.” Her voice cracks. “I—I don’t think I did well.”

  We guide her to the bus stand, walking in silence.

  “Natalie,” I say softly, “you’re the smartest among us. You’ll thrive. Please stop doubting yourself.”

  Javaria adds, “Forget what your old man said. Let’s go grab our favorite ice cream. After all that torture? We earned it.”

  That finally earns a small smile from Natalie. She wipes her tears, and together, we board the bus.