Chapter 90.
At the last possible second Hannah tucks her chin to her chest, burying it in there as deeply as she can just in case Jack changes his mind and does decide he has to punch her in the face.
No matter how fond he is of her.
The voice of her father is back inside Hannah’s head for the last time. Otto Wagner practically shouting at her that a guard position can be crucial—can be everything—in ground fighting like this.
Hannah frames her forearms against Jack’s shoulders, creates space the size of a breath. Then she bucks hard—hips up, turning—slipping one knee between them.
Jack shifts to keep her down.
Hannah pivots and catches his arm, trapping it against her chest. A quick, ugly little lock that doesn’t need strength—only timing. She knows that won’t stop him for long. But she doesn’t need to stop him for long.
Jack’s face changes instantly. Pain flashes there. He tries to pull free. Hannah tightens the angle. Jack stops moving. He knows what it is. He’s been trained.
“You’re going to break it,” Jack says, voice tight.
“I don’t want to,” Hannah whispers.
Hannah releases the hold.
“Boo!” The Host heckles.
Jack lunges forward, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to punch her. He can’t bring himself to give the full force of his strength and training against a kid, especially not one he cares so much for.
“Finish it,” he whispers to her. Leaving himself open.
“Don’t let me win,” she says.
“I won’t,” he replies. “But I won’t hurt you. I told you that.”
He gets back into his fighting stance, and she sees the opening again. It’s not intentional. He doesn’t realize it.
Hannah just needs to use her own strength and agility one final time, along with a final element of surprise.
A short, hard, right-hand punch to Jack’s nose.
The punch Jack couldn’t bring himself to throw at her.
Hannah doesn’t know if it’s enough of a punch to break his nose.
She just sees the blood pouring out of it.
Sees Jack pull his head back before she can hit him in the same spot a second time.
Hannah rolls away from him, springing to her feet, delivering a kick to his kidney.
Jack is the one on his back.
Hannah jumps on top of him. He looks up at her as she puts him back in an arm hold. This time with her full body weight as leverage. She—again—doesn’t need an upper hand in strength if she has the right angle.
“Finish him,” she hears The Host shout.
“No,” she says.
She looks over at the silver-haired man, then back down at Jack.
Hannah stands and offers him her hand.
Jack stares up at her, stunned.
She pulls him to his feet.
“Are you telling me you can’t?” The Host says.
She reaches down with the handkerchief she’s just pulled from the back pocket of her jeans and gently wipes the blood from Jack’s face. Then she looks back at The Host.
“I’m telling you I won’t,” Hannah says.
It’s as if she’s alone in the room, only speaking to herself.
“You win,” Jack says to her.
“No,” Hannah says. “No, I don’t.”
Hannah turns back to The Host, presses her own red button, and says, “I quit.”
The room goes silent.
She didn’t just refuse the fight. She refused what the fight was trying to turn her into. And for the first time in a long time, The Host looks—just for a beat—genuinely annoyed.
Because he didn’t get what he wanted.
Not from her.
Not today.