"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," she called out. She walked toward a nearby rack where several other similarly ornate blades rested. She gestured at the wall of weapons. "Come to admire the family silver?"
"Gabriella's collection?" Giana guessed and moved to join her.
Athena nodded, picking up a cloth and meticulously wiping down the blade she had just used. "The late, unlamented matriarch had expensive tastes and a fondness for pointy things. Rodrigo promised me one for helping get you out of that shithole in Turkey. I thought I would put them through their paces before I decided on my prize."
"A good idea. I hope you take the most valuable one."
Athena grinned. "If he's not careful, I might take them all. What are you doing up this early?"
"Rodrigo agreed to help me brush up on my old fighting skills. I figured I should limber up first."
Athena's eyebrows shot up, and a low chuckle escaped her. "Oh, I justbethe did. Personal lessons from the big boss, huh?"
Heat crept up Giana's neck. "We had a good conversation last night and have agreed to try and work better together."
"Good," Athena said simply. "About fucking time. You weren't the only one Gabriella treated like shit, you know. All the boys have issues because of her. I only met her a few times, and I wanted to murder her, so congratulations on lasting six years without shoving a letter opener into the old cunt's carotid. That's impressive restraint."
A startled laugh burst from Giana. It hurt her ribs, but it felt good. "It crossed my mind more than once."
"See? We have more in common than we thought." Athena grinned, tossed a knife into the air, and caught it by the hilt without looking. "Are you waiting for Prince Charming to descend and bestow his lethal wisdom upon you? Or did you want to actuallydosomething while you wait?"
Giana looked at the knives, then back at Athena. The Edgeworths were legends in the mercenary world, and there was a straightforward competence about Athena that Giana liked.
"I wouldn't mind a warm-up," she admitted. "It's been a while since I handled anything sharper than a stylus, and I don't want to make a fool of myself."
Athena's grin widened. She walked over to another rack holding an assortment of training knives, blunt-edged, but weighted realistically. She selected two, identical in size and balance, and tossed one to Giana. Giana caught it awkwardly with her right hand, the weight and feel unfamiliar, yet stirring a distant memory.
"Basic drills first," Athena stated, moving to an open area of the matted floor. She dropped into a loose stance, knees slightly bent, the training knife held low and forward in her right hand, her left hand raised defensively near her face. "Show me what you remember."
Giana mirrored the stance, the rubberized grip of the training knife solid in her palm. Muscle memory, buried deep beneath years of captivity, began to surface. She shifted her weight, testing her balance, until she felt grounded.
"Good," Athena nodded. "Now, basic thrust. Lead with the knife, step into it, power from the legs and hips, not just the arm. Protect your center line." She demonstrated a smooth, controlled lunge, the knife punching straight forward, her body coiling and uncoiling like a spring. "Your turn."
Giana took a breath, focused, and mimicked the movement. It was stiff, hesitant, and her sore ribs protested the twist.
"Again," Athena commanded, her voice losing its playful edge, becoming instructor-sharp. "Commit to it. You're not poking a cushion. You're trying to puncture clothing, muscle, and maybe bone. Put your body into it."
Giana tried again, pushing through the discomfort. The movement felt more fluid the second time. The third time, she felt some of her old confidence. She focused on the mechanics, the transfer of weight, the extension of the arm.
"Better," Athena conceded. "Now, add the slash. High line." She demonstrated a horizontal slash aimed at neck level, the movement swift and controlled. "Low line." A downward diagonal slash toward the thigh. "Alternate. Thrust, high slash, thrust, low slash. Flow."
Giana fell into the rhythm:Thrust. Slash-high. Thrust. Slash-low.
The movements became less mechanical, more instinctive. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The terror of gloved hands grabbing her in Bodrum fueled her focus.
Never again. She pushed harder, faster, the training blade whistling through the air.
"Good," Athena said, a note of genuine approval in her voice. She moved closer, adjusting Giana's elbow position slightly."Keep that guard hand up. It's not just for show. It blocks, traps, and sets up your knife hand. Now, let's add movement. Advance with the thrust. Retreat with the slash. Don't just stand there like a target."
They moved across the matted floor, Athena calling out combinations, Giana executing them, her breath coming faster now, her muscles warming, the initial stiffness melting away.
She remembered more than she thought of the footwork, the angles, the importance of distance coming back to her.
"Faster!" Athena urged, stepping in to simulate a clumsy grab.
Giana reacted instinctively, slapping the grasping hand aside with her guard hand while simultaneously driving the training knife toward Athena's ribs in a short, brutal thrust. Athena danced back easily, a grin splitting her face.
"Good! Instincts are still there. Buried under years of being a pampered prisoner, maybe, but they're there." Athena resumed her own stance. "Now, defend. I'm coming at you with a thrust. Parry with your blade, deflect it outward, then counter immediately. Go!"
