Brenner pushes himself up, his head snapping toward me with murderous intensity.
“You motherfucker,” he snarls, his voice thick and mucous-filled. “You’re going to pay for that.”
I’m already paying. My face throbs, tiny black dots still swirling at the edges of my peripheral. Both hands shake with adrenaline and fear. Is this a submission? No one has called anything, so the match must still be active.
He charges again, moving with surprising speed for someone so large. This time, I’m more prepared. I’ve watched enough of his movement to gather the pattern—right shoulder dropping before he strikes, weight shifting forward to his front foot, face tilted down as he focuses on his target.
It’s horrifying waiting until the last possible second, yet I do before sidestepping while extending my foot. It’s not a perfect execution—the force of his momentum knocks into my leg, nearly taking me with him—but it works. Brenner tumbles across the mat, his bulk working against him as he loses control and slides to a stop.
A small bubble of pride cheers inside me. I did that. Years of reading about physics and leverage, about utilizing an opponent’s force against them, and I actually executed it. Maybe I’m not entirely helpless after?—
The thought dies as Brenner recovers faster than I anticipated. He rolls to his knees, then launches at me with a roar. Before I can react, his bulk slams into my torso, driving me to the ground with him on top. The air rushes from my lungs in a painful whoosh. He pins me, his weight crushing.
Now I really can’t breathe. Or move.
His bulk ensures I’m completely immobilized, my arms trapped at my sides as panic rises in my throat.
Then his leg shifts as he draws back for a kick aimeddirectly between mine. He’s going for what he thinks is my most vulnerable spot. Little does he know, I don’t have the same equipment he’s targeting.
The kick lands, and while there’s still pain—the pubic bone is sensitive regardless of anatomy—it’s nothing like what he intended. I tighten my thighs, trapping his foot between my legs, and use the leverage to twist my body violently to the side. Only to slip and drop onto my opponent.
Something cracks loudly—the sound of bone giving way under pressure. Brenner’s scream is immediate, a high-pitched wail that doesn’t match his imposing frame. I release him at once and push myself back, watching in horror as he clutches at his leg.
The mask lifts from his face in a frantic swipe, revealing contorted features flushed with pain. His hands scrabble at his pant leg, yanking it up to expose the damage.
I’m not prepared for the visual. His tibia is visibly displaced, pushing against the skin from within. It hasn’t broken through, but the unnatural bulge makes my stomach roll. The skin stretches taut over the deformity, already darkening with bruises as blood pools beneath the surface.
I did that? I didn’t mean tobreak his leg—just to free myself. The realization of my own strength is…unsettling.
Brenner’s face is a mess of tears and sweat, his tough facade crumbling under the wave of pain. Calder and Finnick approach with caution, looking between Brenner and Arayik as if unsure whether to help.
I should feel bad. This is a career-ending injury for an Enforcer recruit. He’ll be sent away, his chances of joining the force destroyed. But all I can summon is divine relief. This man would have killed me given the opportunity, he made that clear last night. This outcome—him leaving the team with a healingleg rather than me leaving in a body bag—is the better alternative.
The Commander strides over, his movements unhurried. He kneels beside Brenner, examining the injury with clinical detachment. After a moment, he touches something on his wrist and mutters into it—a communication device of some sort.
Within a minute, two Enforcers emerge from the main building, moving with purpose toward our group. I push myself to stand, wincing at the various aches blossoming across my body. The Enforcers reach Brenner and each take one of his arms, preparing to lift him.
“No, wait,” he gasps, his voice frantic and filled with pain. “I’m fine, Commander. I can stay on the team. Just need the medic to?—”
“Show me,” Arayik interrupts before crossing his arms. One nod to the Enforcers and they release Brenner’s arms.
The moment they let go, Brenner tries to put weight on his leg and collapses with a shriek, crumpling to the ground. His face contorts, fresh tears streaming along his cheeks.
“Take him to medical,” Arayik orders flatly. “He’s out.”
Just like that, Brenner’s time as a recruit ends. The Enforcers lift him again, more carefully this time, and carry him toward the training center. Relief settles through me that Brenner is in too much pain to look back, to threaten me one final time. His departure solves multiple problems at once—one less threat to navigate.
“Styx, Crowell, ” Arayik commands Calder and Finnick, already moving on. “You’re up.”
The two remaining recruits rush to obey, taking positions on the mat. I step to the side, grateful for the brief reprieve. My body aches everywhere—face throbbing from Brenner’s punch, ribs sore from his weight, muscles coiled with tension, lingering adrenaline the only thing keeping me upright.
Finally, a moment to relax a fraction and watchas the two other recruits circle each other with more caution than Brenner showed. They’re both wary and professional, testing defenses before committing to attacks. I should be watching their techniques, learning from their form, but the details blur.
“Ashford.”
The sharp command jerks me back to attention. Arayik stands several yards away, motioning me toward an open patch of grass adjacent to the other recruits. My stomach drops. I thought I’d be allowed to observe the rest of the session and recover from my bout with Brenner.
No such luck.
