Her pulse is loud enough that I can feel it inside my own ribs.
“Scan,” I bark.
Her eyes flick left, right, up.
“Doorway, blind corner, ventilation duct,” she snaps.
“Move.”
She pivots and drops into a crouch behind the low barrier, rolling exactly the way I showed her yesterday, coming up with her training pistol already aimed at where my head would be if I were stupid enough to stand there.
I feel something hot and sharp twist in my chest.
“Again,” I growl.
We move on to knife defense.
Real blade.
Blunted edge, but still heavy and mean.
She takes the first slash across the forearm because her timing is off by a quarter-second.
Blood beads up instantly.
She hisses.
“Again,” she says through clenched teeth.
I go harder.
Faster.
Meaner.
She adapts.
Her bruised knuckles split open on my jaw.
I taste copper.
“Sorry,” she pants.
“Don’t apologize,” I snap. “Hit harder.”
We move into evasion drills.
I cut the lights.
Release two tracking drones into the corridor maze.
She has ninety seconds to disappear.
She makes it fifty-seven before one of them tags her shoulder.
She swears viciously and throws a pipe at the second one hard enough to shatter its lens.
She drops into a breathing crouch, sweat pouring down her temples, chest heaving.
