The sky before dawn was still indigo. Lamps lit the shooting range of the Felsen Training Grounds, casting a sickly yellow glow across the frost-covered earth. The cold air bit at the nostrils. Autumn was dying. Breath came out white, dissolving quickly into the darkness. Grife Garger stood at the edge of the shooting range, his arms folded across his chest. The red armband on his left arm caught the lamplight, gleaming dully. He'd barely slept the night before. His eyes felt heavy behind the lids. But there was no reason to skip this morning's training. The words from that document kept repeating in his head. ——Procurement of disposable weapons. The mechanisms of control. He clenched his back teeth. Stop thinking about it. Right now was training. Right now, that was all that mattered. Twenty-two candidates stood lined up at the firing positions. Today's training was a combined 100m and 300m shooting exercise. Five rounds each at two distances—ten rounds total per person. Scoring