And Arayik didn’t ask the question for any reason other than satisfying his suspicion of me.
The world spins, heat flashing through me as my hands slicken. The mask is tighter than it was a second ago, the strap biting at my head as if in punishment. A faint whine grows in my ears, the same high note that emerges before a migraine.
Don’t react, Cas.
Lachlan would have known that—Ishould have known that.
Against my will, my eyes flick to the Commander, whose gaze is already trained on me. Whatever. That proves nothing; anyone could have answered the same as me, it doesn’t mean they’re a woman impersonating her brother to infiltrate this team of Enforcers…
Shit.
He surprisingly doesn’t call me out, instead returning to our training, leaving me to stress alone. “Pair up.”
Before I can even consider who might be least likely to break my neck, Brenner’s voice rings out. “I’m taking Ashford.”
Stars, why me?
My stomach drops. Of course I should have anticipated this. Last night’s confrontation was just the prelude—he’s been waiting for a sanctioned opportunity to hurt me.
“You heard him,” Arayik remarks, stepping back. “Brenner and Ashford, center mat.”
I have no choice now. Refusing would draw more attention than I can afford and would brand me forever as easy prey and get me kicked from the team. I need to think tactically, to use this somehow.
Perhaps this is an opportunity. If I handle Brenner properly, I might earn begrudging respect from the others. And there’s something to be said for confronting a threat directly rather than waiting for it to find you unaware.
My opponent stomps toward the mat, each footfall throwing up tiny puffs of dust. His movements are aggressive, radiating violent intent. The afternoon sun catches on the metal parts of his uniform, sending brief flashes across the yard and the air feels charged, like the tense moments before a storm breaks from the sky.
Positioning myself on the mat, I stand slightly off-center opposite Brenner. I try to recall every self-defense technique I’ve read about and learned while here, but my mind blanks.
Yesterday, I watched him lift those forty-pound weights as if they were filled with air. His arms are twice the size of mine, his chest a barrel compared to my narrow frame. And now he wants revenge.
But there’s a reason he’s in this specific training with me. He’s too impulsive and aggressive; he leads with his emotions, not with his head, and his weakness is being quick to rage. If I can’t otherwise survive this without my powers, I can at least use that against him.
Worse still, what if my mask falls off during the fight? It’s secured, but a direct hit might dislodge it. The rules permit bare faces during accidental exposure in sparring, but I can’t let that happen.
The Commander approaches the edge of the mat. “Basicrules,” he says tersely. “No intentional deadly force or powers. First to three submissions or a knockout wins. Clear?”
Those are barely rules at all.
Nointentionaldeath leaves so much room for pain, or temporary injuries that could take weeks to heal.
“Begin.”
Everything happens too fast. I make the rookie mistake of standing with my feet together, a posture so unstable that when Brenner lunges forward, his fist connects with the side of my mask before I can even think to move.
The impact is explosive. My head snaps back, vision temporarily whiting out as I’m launched backward. I land hard, skidding across the mat, hard material pressing painfully into my face. If not for the protection of my mask, my cheekbone would be shattered.
Fuck me, that hurts. My ears ring as the aching in my jaw where the impact transferred through the mask crescendos. I almost laugh at the irony—the very thing concealing my identity just saved me.
Before I can fully recover, Brenner shouts a battle cry, and I watch as his boots approach rapidly. He’s going to kick me while I’m down. Pure survival instinct rises as I forgo the effort to remember everything I’ve read about combat. I roll sideways, enjoying the rush of air as his stomp misses my ribs by inches, slamming into the mat where I’d just been lying.
There’s no time for thought, only reaction. I grab his ankle with both hands and pull with everything I have, unbalancing him just as he’s shifting his weight for another kick. The unexpected counter drags him into an awkward split. He screams, clutching his groin.
This is my chance.
Scrambling to my feet, I retreat to the opposite side of the mat, putting maximum distance between us. My heart hammers as my breath comes in short,painful gasps.
I can’t breathe.
