# CHAPTER 2: The Parapet's Deadly Dance
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review CHAPTER 2 of *Fourth Wing* — and trust me, this chapter is a heart-stopping, rain-soaked trial of fear, fury, and survival. If you thought the first chapter was intense, buckle up, because Violet Sorrengail is about to face the most terrifying walk of her life: a narrow, windswept bridge two hundred feet in the air, with killers on both sides of her destiny.
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The storm roared over Basgiath like an angry god, but for Violet Sorrengail, the thunder was almost a comfort. She had always loved nights when lightning painted shadows across her books, when the world seemed to huddle close and whisper secrets. But this downpour wasn't a cozy backdrop for reading—it was the soundtrack to her possible death.
She stood at the edge of the turret, waiting to be called. A rider with a scroll, protected by a cloak that wasn't doing much against the rain, demanded her name.
"Violet Sorrengail," she answered, her voice steady even as her heart hammered.
The moment her name left her lips, those eyebrows rose. *The* General Sorrengail's daughter. The comparisons were inevitable—her mother, the iron-fisted commander of Basgiath; her sister Mira, a gifted rider; her brother Brennan, a brilliant strategist. And then there was Violet: small, fragile, bookish, and utterly out of place among warriors. She knew exactly what everyone was thinking: *She doesn't belong here.*
But she had no choice. Her mother had given her an ultimatum: become a rider or become a memory. And Violet, for all her trembling bones, wasn't ready to die.
She dragged her fingertips across the stone, feeling the warmth fading from the morning sun, now replaced by slick rain. Ahead, Rhiannon—a girl who had somehow become a spark of hope—was already making her way across the parapet, arms outstretched for balance. Violet watched her disappear into the gray curtain of rain, praying she would make it.
"Name?" The rider asked again, but this time he wasn't talking to her.
"Jack Barlowe," came the arrogant voice behind her. "Remember the name. I'm going to be a wingleader one day."
Violet rolled her eyes internally. *Of course.*
Then Xaden Riorson's deep voice cut through the wind: "You'd better get going, Sorrengail."
She glanced back and met his glare. But before she could move, Jack lunged forward, hands raised. The intent was unmistakable—he was going to shove her off the edge.
Fear shot through her veins like ice, and she bolted.
Her feet hit the parapet, and there was no turning back. The world narrowed to a two-foot-wide stone path suspended above a raging river. Mira's advice echoed in her mind: *Keep your eyes on the stones ahead and don't look down.* But every step felt like her last.
She threw her arms out for balance, taking the small, measured strides she had practiced with Major Gillstead. But this wasn't practice. The wind ripped at her like invisible claws. The rain blurred her vision. The stones beneath her feet were uneven, worn, treacherous.
Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her muscles screamed. Her head spun.
*Calm. You have to stay calm.*
And then Violet did what Violet always did in moments of chaos: she retreated into facts. As a scholar, she knew the archives were her sanctuary. So she recited history, geography, anything to keep her mind from picturing the fall.
"The Continent is home to two kingdoms—and we've been at war for four hundred years. Navarre, my home, is the larger kingdom, with six unique provinces..."
Step by step, she walked the path, her voice a lifeline in the storm. She passed the halfway point, then the highest point. She could see the citadel ahead, its stone walls promising safety. Rhiannon was nearly there. *Good. She deserves to make it.*
But then the wind slammed into her like a physical force.
"Shit!" Violet flailed, dropped to her knees, and grabbed the edges of the parapet. She crouched low, making herself small as the gale howled over and around her. Panic clawed at her throat. She forced herself to keep reciting, shouting into the wind about Tyrrendor's secession, about the Trade Agreement of Resson, about anything that tethered her to sanity.
And then she looked back to see where Jack was.
He was stalled at the quarter mark, stocky and still, like a predator waiting. And then she saw it—saw him grab the gangly boy coming toward him and throw him off the parapet like a sack of grain.
A scream pierced the storm, then faded into nothing.
Holy shit.
"You're next, Sorrengail!" Jack bellowed, pointing at her with a sinister smile.
Violet's blood turned to ice. *Move. Now.*
She scrambled to her feet and ran, reciting facts with panicked breath. "Tyrrendor encompasses the southwest of the Continent... made up of hostile, mountainous terrain..."
But another gust slammed into her. Her left foot slipped. She stumbled, her knee cracking against the stone, and her leg dangled off the edge of the bridge from hell.
She made the mistake of looking down.
Water ran off her nose and chin, splattering into the darkness below. Two hundred feet down, the river raged. She could already imagine her body hitting the rocks, the pain, the silence.
*I will not die today.*
She gripped the stone, braced her weight, and swung her leg up. Her foot found the walkway. But Jack was closing in, his voice taunting through the rain.
"There's no way someone who can't even carry a full rucksack passed the entrance exam. You're a mistake, Sorrengail. It's really for the best that I take you out now, don't you think? The dragons will eat you leg by rickety leg while you're still alive."
"The fuck you will," Violet muttered.
She pushed off the stone and burst to her feet. Fear was a luxury she couldn't afford. She locked her gaze on the end of the parapet, where the citadel's walls rose like salvation. A dozen feet. Just a dozen feet.
Her left foot slipped again, but she kept moving. The walls closed in on both sides. Safety was so close she could taste it.
And then Jack charged.
He lunged for her pack, missed, and his hand smacked against her hip as she jumped the twelve inches off the parapet into the courtyard.
She landed hard, whirled around, and ripped a dagger from its sheath.
Jack skidded to a halt above her, breath ragged, face ruddy. Murder burned in his icy blue eyes. But the tip of Violet's dagger—now pressed firmly against his balls—stopped him cold.
"I think. I'll be safe. For right. Now," she managed between ragged breaths. Her muscles trembled, but her hand was steady.
"Will you?" Jack vibrated with rage.
But he didn't take another step.
Violet recited the Codex like a lifeline: "It is unlawful for a rider to cause another harm while in a quadrant formation or in the supervisory presence of a superior-ranking cadet, as it will diminish the efficacy of the wing. Article Three, Section—"
"I don't give a shit!" Jack moved, but Violet held her ground, and the dagger sliced through the first layer of his breeches.
"I suggest you reconsider." Her voice was steel. "I might slip."
The riders behind her watched the scene unfold with alarming calm. A redheaded third-year with silver stars on her cloak held the roll and asked for names. The male rider, with rain soaking into his patch-covered jacket, seemed almost amused.
He explained the situation. "Cadet Sorrengail has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She's right. You want to kill her, you'll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. Because technically, you're not on the grounds yet, so *you* are not a cadet. *She* is."
"And if I snap her neck the second I step down?" Jack growled.
"Then you get to meet the dragons early," the redhead answered. "We don't wait for trials around here. We just execute."
Jack finally raised his hands, palms out, and sneered. "Guess I don't have a choice."
Violet lowered her dagger but kept it palmed and ready. She moved sideways, toward the redhead, as Jack stepped down into the courtyard.
His shoulder knocked hers as he passed. He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper: "You're dead, Sorrengail, and I'm going to be the one to kill you."
Violet swallowed the lump in her throat. "Not today," she replied, the hilt of her dagger solid in her hand.
Jack scoffed, sniffed her like a dog, and melted into the crowd of celebrating cadets.
The rain eased to a drizzle, as if it had only come to make her trial worse. Violet stood there, trembling, her left knee throbbing where she had smashed it. She took a step, and her leg nearly gave out.
She was alive. She had made it.
But she knew—with chilling certainty—that Jack Barlowe wasn't the only monster in this place. And somewhere in the shadows of the citadel, Xaden Riorson was also waiting. A man with every reason to want her dead.
Violet had survived the parapet.
But the real nightmare was just beginning.
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**Reader's Impressions & Star Rating:**
What an adrenaline-soaked chapter! I was gripping the edge of my seat the entire time, holding my breath as Violet stumbled and slipped her way across that deadly bridge. The way she uses facts and history to anchor herself during the most terrifying moment of her life is so deeply human and brilliant—it's a reminder that courage isn't about not being afraid; it's about finding a reason to keep moving forward anyway. Jack Barlowe is a terrifying antagonist, and the cold-blooded murder of the boy on the parapet sent actual chills down my spine. And the moment Violet pulls a dagger on Jack at the end? Absolutely iconic. She's physically small, but her will is titanium. This chapter earns every bit of admiration I feel for her.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
**Next Chapter Prediction:**
Violet has survived the parapet, but she's wounded, exhausted, and already marked for death by Jack Barlowe. I predict the next chapter will thrust her into the brutal reality of the Riders Quadrant—room assignments, hazing, and the looming threat of the dragons. Jack will no doubt try to find new ways to challenge her, and Xaden Riorson's presence will grow more dangerous. Also, with her injured knee, Violet will have to hide her weakness while facing the physical demands of the quadrant. Will she find allies among the other cadets, or will she be hunted from all sides? One thing's for sure: the dragons are watching, and the real test is only beginning.
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