He nodded stiffly. “What kind of things?”
“Here’s an example.” She took a few steps away from him, as if walking to the end of the simulated street, and then turned back around.
“Ready?” she asked him.
He didn’t seem like it, but to his credit, he lifted his head and gave her a steady nod. “Sure,” he replied. “Hit me.”
She wanted to smile a little at that, but held it in. Then she headed in his direction like she was a passerby.
As they drew near to each other, Winter started to say, “I hope you know it’s been a long time since I was able to walk down a street alone like this—”
Before he could finish his sentence, she pretended to trip and fight for balance, stumbling into him hard enough to make him step back. One of her closed fists came out of her pocket to strike him in the side.
He flinched away from her with a startled gasp. As he did, she widened her eyes and held up her hands at him. “God, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, then continued hurrying down the path. Then she stopped and turned back around.
She unclenched her other fist to reveal a pen-like weapon in herhand. When she tapped the end of it, a long, needle-thin blade shot out.
“What I just did was exactly how an anarchist assassinated the Empress of Austria in 1898.” She compressed the blade back into its holder again. “It only takes the blink of an eye.”
She half expected him to pale at her words, but instead, his eyes just fell to the blade in her hand before going back to her face. There was a glimmer of grave awe toward her in his expression, and she wondered when the last time was that he’d been taken completely off guard like this.
“And how should I be constantly prepared for a knife attack?” he asked.
“Your instincts are more valuable than you know. The only difference between a normal person’s instincts and an agent’s is that an agent is trained to react in more ways. Now, in this scenario, what would your current instincts tell you to do?”
“Run?”
“That’s honestly not a bad plan,” Sydney answered. “If you can, dodge and run. You’re fast, I’ll give you that—I’ve seen your onstage footage enough times.
He gave her an amused smile. “Have you, now?”
Sydney scowled, forcing down a rising flush at his words. “Yes. It’s called research for work. Anyway, use your speed to your advantage. Escaping might be your best choice.”
He frowned. “And if not?”
“I’ll show you.” Without warning, she tossed the knife at him.
To her surprise, Winter darted quickly back and caught the knife in one hand.
“Nice reflexes,” she said. “Left-handed?”
“Ambidextrous.” He glared at her. “Now what?”
“Try to get me.”
Winter took a deep breath, then retreated a few steps. He walkedtoward her in the same nonchalant fashion. Again, Sydney found herself feeling impressed. He had memorized her previous movements, even the way she had blinked and looked around, and replicated it so well that it was as if he had already been trained in this exercise.
As he passed her, he stumbled and fell against her. His right hand flashed as if to attack her with the pen-knife. So he was ambidextrous, after all.
Sydney moved faster than she could think. Her body curved instantly away—in the same move, her arm shot out and seized his wrist in a vise-like grip. She twisted it hard, hearing him grunt, then yanked him toward her while angling backward and pulled his arm into an uncomfortable right angle. Her leg came out to trip him. In the blink of an eye, she had her knee on his chest and the knife at his throat, their faces barely a few inches from each other.
He blinked, stunned momentarily into silence, and she found herself studying his pupils out of habit. They were constricted in pain, revealing all the golden-brown slashes in his irises. His shallow breaths were warm against her skin, and she noted the hard panels of his body as his chest rose and fell beneath her knee. He was staring at her now, truly taking her in—and although she didn’t know what he saw, she felt her heart lurch unexpectedly at his attention.
Then he winced, his arm still locked painfully down by her other hand. “Okay,” he said hoarsely. “Let go.”
She released him, then offered a hand to pull him up. “You practice that for two straight years,” she said, “and it becomes a new part of your instincts. Like another immune system.”
“Good to know.”
