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I sigh softly, aggravated. “Weren’t you watching them question me? I have dual citizenship—US and Egyptian.”

“What languages do you speak?”

I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s been years since I spoke anything but English.”

He says something in Spanish, the ending inflection indicating he asked me a question. I shake my head.

“I never had any Spanish.”

“What did you have?”

“Italian, French, and Arabic. But like I said, it’s been a long time.”

“Can you swim?”

I nod.

He inclines his head, indicating I should follow him. I set the bow down and follow. When he reaches the center of the small gymnasium, he turns to face me.

“Let’s do some light sparring,” he says. “I’m not going to hit you, obviously. Show me how you’d block if I did, though.”

I get into the stance Briar taught me. Weight low and balanced, knees slightly bent, fists up protecting my face. I’m much smaller than Evander. He towers over me, but I have the advantage of aromium.

I’m expecting a punch, but he moves his hands to my waist, hovering but not making contact.

“I could have you on your back in two seconds,” he says earnestly. “Back up, move to the side. Be quick on your feet. When you’re up against a man, evading him is your best bet.”

I drop my hands, my stomach falling like I’m on a roller coaster. Nothing good comes from remembering the horrors of being alone in the postvirus world. I survived. I am a survivor, not a victim.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Come on, again.”

This time, I’m ready. I see his hand moving and get my arm up to block it. He reaches for me again, and this time I back up.

He lunges again, and even with my speed, I barely escape the reach of his long arms. We play the cat-and-mouse game for a while, moving around the gym floor. I don’t like being the mouse, but I’m able to duck every attempt he makes to grab me.

“Okay, good,” he finally says. “Do you know what to do if someone’s choking you?”

“Briar taught me.”

He moves his hands until they’re hovering around my throat, not making contact.

“Show me.”

“If we were on the ground, I’d try to throw dirt in your eyes or shove my thumbs into your eye sockets.” I remember Briar’s lessons on this well. “But standing, I’d pivot, like this—” I roll one shoulder inward. “And use my arm to try to break the hold.”

“If someone gets their hands around your neck, you fight like hell.”

His tone—like I’m a high school girl taking her first self-defense class—is grating on me.

“I’ve killed people, you know.”

His expression shifts slightly, and I see skepticism. “How many have you killed without a bow and arrow?”

I bristle. “That’s like me asking how many people you’ve killed without your hands.”

“My hands are always attached.”