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Summary
The letter arrived in the early afternoon, folded and sealed with the crest of the Survey Corps. It was handed off by a runner, his face still red from exertion, and placed delicately on Captain Alma Osborne’s desk like an unexploded bomb. Alma glanced at it once, decided she didn’t care for its smug posture, and went back to cleaning her knuckles. The sharp stinging of the antiseptic she dabbed on her hands was a familiar sensation, one that barely registered anymore.
The letter, however, had a more insistent presence.
“You gonna open it, or should I start praying for your soul now?” said Deke, her second-in-command, as he leaned against the doorframe. He had the lazy grin of a man who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.
“It’s a letter,” Alma replied without looking up. “Not a death sentence.”
“From the Commander of the Survey Corps. I can tell by the fancy wax colour.” Deke whistled. “Must be in deep shit, old girl.”
She chuckled, chucking her rag aside, “Still breathing, aren’t I?”Series
- Part 1 of Wicked