Emily had done it. They all had. This was the best outcome she could have hoped for: Joining the WARG, with all her friends, immediately after graduation. She should be happy, they all should, but all she felt was a sort of bare relief. She had met her own expectations, for once. It wasn't the joy she'd imagined. Curious, she tried to glance around the room without moving too perceptibly; but all she could see were the backs of the other's heads, and the serious eyes of the headmaster. 

They were a team, that much was true. And they did fight well together. But the burden of having to protect her friends, let alone following their orders... that was terrifying. But maybe she would have been terrified anyway. Maybe that was the way you were supposed to feel, when you were joining the WARG. 

It was definitely how you were supposed to feel at the moment you were being shipped out, but to Emily's mind, that was supposed to be because you were worried about getting killed. That wasn't what she was afraid of. She could take care of herself; she knew, in the back of her mind, that whatever else happened, she was safe. The spirits wanted her alive, they needed her alive... neither she nor they would allow otherwise.
 
But the others - what would this be like for them? How could they possibly be prepared, even with all their years at the Academy, even with all the training, for what was coming? In twenty minutes, they were supposed to be ready to go and fight. Olivia was supposed to be ready to lead; Emily could scarcely believe Olivia had even been chosen to head up their team. She would have put money on almost any of the others (well, maybe not Freddy. But almost any of the others). 

As they filed out of the room, Emily gripped the WARG badge gently with her left hand. It felt cool and smooth. She was struck with an urge to throw it away and run, an urge managed to ignore. She could hear the whispers of the spirits, always just outside her range of hearing, and she wondered what they made of all this, if they were even cognizant of it at all. It always seemed as if they were watching her, but whether they actually were, or it was merely her mind's attempts to comprehend some lower level of influence, she had no idea.

She listened to Olivia's stunned attempt at giving orders. She called her father. Their conversation was short and muted. He congratulated her, but she knew there was no pleasure in his voice. He thought she was being sent to die. She assured him she'd call again as soon as she could. He asked when that would be. She didn't know. She dressed in her newly-issued combat uniform. It felt starchy and dry, but it was flexible enough, and hopefully more protective than her usual training outfits. It had sheaths for her batons. 

Emily was at the main gates with two minutes to spare, in body, if not in mind.