When he stumbled as the train lurched, she covered her mouth to avoid laughing. He didn’t look up at her, so she allowed the smile to remain another minute, enjoying the thought of how things could have been.
Then it hit her. Things could have been different. They could have gone on this assignmenttogether, as true partners in crime. They would have climbed their ranks, still gotten married, and eventually been here, but so much better. Stronger together. But they weren’t. They weren’t. Because of the choiceCarverhad made.
She hated him for it. He decided and she could do nothing except pick up the shattered pieces.
He broke the silence first, “We’re stuck here for the next two days. We should try to converse or at least be civil.”
“Wasn’t in the rules.” She bit back.
He rolled his shoulders to relieve tension, and the muscles rippled under his thin shirt. He had already shed his jacket, and truthfully, Clara wished his jacket had remained on. It wasn’t fair that his well defined physique was clearly visible through his clothing.Damn, maybe that should’ve been a rule, she thought salaciously.
“It’s not against the rules either. And we did agree that we would have to figure out how to trust each other for the sake of the assignment.”
“Fair,” she conceded. She wanted to talk to him. Well, truthfully, she wanted to yell at him. She wanted him to know exactly how much he’d hurt her. She wanted him to know that he made the last three years of her life hell. She became reckless, blaming him for half the scars scattered across her body.
Simultaneously, she wanted him to believe that he didn’t have an effect on her, that with or without him she would have become this strong. He didn’t get to hurt her.
“What do you want to talk about?” She deadpanned, giving him all the freedom to begin.
“What was your favorite part of training to be aViper?” The question caught her off guard, and for once she didn’t have a snarky remark.
She combed through the memories as they rushed by in a blur. The training, the blood on her hands, her body, the hollow eyes of those she had killed, the fear, the rush, the adrenaline. Nope, none of that. She could say any one of those, but none of those things were her favorite. She could at least answer him honestly.
“My trainer hated me from day one. He forced me to go harder than anyone else. He wanted me to break; he actually told me he was trying to break me. A team is only as strong as its weakest unit, and he was absolutely convinced I was the weakest unit.
One day about three months in I finally won a fight. The other girl was bigger, and everyone thought she would destroy me. But I was faster. So fast that I took the advantage, and she had to be helped to the healing room.” Clara smiled at that, “A strange thing to be proud of, I know. But it was the first time my trainer looked at me with anything other than derision. The next day, he told me he was wrong about me and he was proud of how seriously I was taking training. Everything changed after that moment.”
She didn’t tell Carver that she’d felt capable–the first time she’d actually felt strong because she was strong. No outside force had helped her. She had done it herself, and there was a confidence that came with that capability. She didn’t think Carver could understand that. He had always been strong. He had always been so brilliantly perfect in every discipline. School, basic training, making friends. He was always everyone’s favorite. It felt nice to be on her own and be someone’s favorite.
He didn’t respond for several minutes, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Would he mock her for her favorite memory?
“I’m proud of you, Clara.” He replied softly.
She clenched her teeth instinctively, feeling like he’d hit her. “You don’t get to say that to me.”
He nodded, agreeing, and it fueled her anger. She wanted to fight. She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell and say all the things she said to him in her dreams. “You don’t get to say that to me,” she repeated more harshly. “You don’t get to pretend we’re okay and you’re my friend now.” She chose her words carefully, but allowed her tone to stay as angry as she felt. She wouldn’t be the one to break the rules. “We’re on an assignment. We’re working together. That’s it.” She felt her heart break as she said the words; she forced her voice to stay strong and not do the same.
“You’re right.” He admitted, sounding tired. “I’m sorry.”
She wouldn’t accept his apology. Wouldn’t give him that courtesy. Instead, she wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and pressed herself further into the corner on the crates. She was done talking to him.
8CARVER
It’s my own fault for asking.Carver knew that. His question was an attempt to glimpse the last three years of her life, an unrealized hope that he might mend what he had destroyed. He shouldn’t have asked.
He knew her too well. He knew her well enough to understand why her trainer singled her out–knew her well enough to know the first few weeks she showed up with dark circles under her eyes and irises rimmed in red. He knew how the backlash would have inspired her to push harder.
He didn’t lie to her. He was proud. She had become so much stronger than he thought she could be. But was it worth the price she paid? The price he forced her to pay? He had kept her alive, so he had kept his promise. Until now, at least.
She pretended to sleep for the next couple hours, and Carver was honestly relieved she didn’t ask him about his favorite memory. It was for the best. After all, he couldn’t give her an honest answer. He would have told her some BS story about the first time he was called into Command.
It had, of course, been a defining moment in his career. As he stood before them, he knew his father would have been pleasedwith how far he had come, and he was grateful his mother couldn’t worry about where he was headed.
The train slowed to a stop. They were in a smaller town, far outside the city walls. He stood up and stretched, trying to roll the tension from his shoulders. “Where do you think we are?”
He almost shrugged or replied snarkily, but if she was willing to talk to him suddenly, he wouldn’t waste it. “I’m not sure. We’ve been traveling for at least a few hours. We’re at least three hundred miles outside of Quorath.”
“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier.” She murmured.
