Bonus Chapter 18B Korr
Iwatch her.
Nothing can ever happen between us, and I know that.
Gods, I can’t take my eyes off her though, as she completes obstacle after obstacle, smiling like a psychopath.
She makes it to the sparring ring, and I immediately tense when I see Aiden standing in the ring, waiting and looking like he is ready to explode in anger.
She drew the short straw by being randomly paired against him. She’s fast, but he’s a fucking tank who has been fighting almost as long as he has been able to walk. He’s bested the most elite fighters time and time again.
I watch her stumble back after taking Aiden’s left hook, and I swear I hear her ribs break from here.
Her face drains of color. I see her wince, her whole body locked in agony.
She’s not tapping out and going to the infirmary like she should be. Why isn’t she tapping?
I want to scream for her to do it, the words burning in my throat. Tap now, godsdamnit! I don’t, I can’t. I force myself to keep it all to myself, clenched like a fist.
She curls over, and I think she’s finally going to stop the fight.
Hell, Aiden is probably praying she quits so he can drag her out of the pit. I guarantee he’s already beating himself up for landing that hit.
Still, she doesn’t stop.
She curls her body, her spine bent at an angle that looks unnatural, but she doesn’t go down. She stays low, poised, waiting like a coiled spring. She’s not backing down. I can see it in the way she moves; she’s waiting for him to come closer.
He falls into her beautiful trap this time.
And she fucking takes advantage of it.
She doesn’t waste a second. She explodes forward, her body a whip of power and precision, her legs springing her up into him with perfect timing. A punch to his solar plexus, and I see him fold.
Then comes a second hit.
Her fist connects with his nose with a brutal snap, and his head jerks back. I’m sure that hit stung like hell, but I’ve seen him take far worse hits and fight through them. Still, I watch his knees buckle, his body crashing to the ground like that hit really took him down.
It’s over.
She’s proved her point, and what an impressive point it was. Now she can let Fellows help her to the infirmary, where she should be.
No.
No, she better fucking not.
With every step she takes toward the rope swing, my side aches for her. She cannot seriously think she can finish this course in her condition.
Yet, she must. And if I thought her face was pale before, she is nearly transparent as she reaches up and grabs the rope with trembling hands.
This is beyond reckless; this is a death wish!
My hands clench at my sides. Every instinct in me is screaming to stop her, to run in and pull her off that platform before she kills herself trying to prove something. Before I can move, she jumps.
For one suspended heartbeat, she’s weightless—raw defiance and motion cutting through the air.
If she’s lucky, she’ll hit the next platform hard enough to only worsen her ribs.
If she’s not, the gods will decide how much more they’re willing to take from her today.
She crashes into the platform hard and rolls. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp huff as she tumbles, limbs loose, no instinct left to protect herself. She comes to a stop mere inches from the edge, and I don’t think she even realizes how close she really is.
For a moment, she doesn’t move. Then, with agonizing slowness, her hand drags across the wood, clutching her side like she’s trying to keep herself from splitting open. Her skin is pale, her breathing shallow.
The recruits around the course start to murmur, a few shifting uneasily, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
Her arm shakes violently as she pushes herself up to her knees. She reaches for the bell, her hand trembling so badly I think she’ll miss it.
Still, she doesn’t.
The sound of it cuts through the air like a war cry.
She did it.
I’m moving toward her before I even know what I’m doing. She is coming this way, and I expect her to be crying in pain or curled over, but for what feels like the hundredth time today with her, I’m wrong.
I look over her body, trying to find whatever other injuries she has, but she is standing tall; the tension in her posture that I watched moments ago is gone, like it never existed.
She makes it to me, and I don’t even think before I’m pushing for answers, needing to know why she wouldn’t just abandon the stupid course.
“Why didn’t you tap out? You’ve run this course before. You knew what came next.”
“I’m fine. I didn’t need to tap,” she says with such conviction that I think she really believes it.
Something in me snaps. The restraint, the professionalism, the carefully built walls, all of it fractures under the weight of what she’s just done.
“You’re not fucking fine! Your ribs are broken! You could’ve punctured a lung with one of those stupid calls you made!” The words come out sharper than I mean them to, and I’d give anything to pull them back when I see her flinch, but I can’t.
The anger in my voice isn’t for her. It’s for me. Because I should’ve stopped her, I should’ve stepped in when I heard the crack, when I saw her face pale, when she reached for that damn rope like she hadn’t been hit by a freight train.
But I didn’t.
And now here I am, having just yelled at her while she looks through me like I’m nothing. Not in the way the rich recruits do with their air of superiority, but—it hits me like a blow to the gut—she’s not ignoring me or ignoring the pain. She’s escaping it.
She sways, and I’m beside her in seconds, catching her elbow gently, feeling the tremor in her body.
I put my hand on her shoulder, trying to ground her, trying to pull her back into the present. “Miss Corvin,” I say, my voice low yet firm, “Annalise, look at me.”
She doesn’t respond. It’s like there’s no one in there. Like the woman who just crushed that course in front of us is suddenly someone else, someone unreachable.
Fuck.
I step in front of her, blocking her view of the course, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused. And I fucking hate it. I hate that it’s happening to her. I hate that I can’t stop it.
I shake her shoulder a little, only enough to get her attention, but she doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even see me.
I swear under my breath, barely controlling the panic creeping into my chest. The thing I’ve been trained to handle, I can’t.
“Annalise,” I say again, my voice tight, “you have to hear me. Come back.”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t respond. There’s nothing in her face.
Shit.
I don’t know what else to do. So I lower my voice, trying something different. “You’re not alone. You’re not alone, Annalise. I’m right here.”
It takes everything in me to keep my voice steady, not to sound like I’m on the verge of fucking breaking.
Her eyelids flutter for a second.
A small victory.
“That’s right, breathe,” I murmur. “I’m here. Breathe.”
There’s something raw and broken in her eyes, but there’s also this flicker of recognition. It's not much, but it’s enough to make my panic ease just a little.
She’s still unsteady on her feet, but her breathing is more controlled now. She’s back—at least enough to make it through the tests they will want to do at the infirmary.
A couple of recruits offer to take her to the healers, a reminder that I need to be here for the rest of the class’s runs.
“I’ve got her, Sir,” one recruit tells me as he scoops her small frame into his arms.
I’m frozen for a moment, watching him walk away with her.
“What the fuck did you do to Lee?” That’s all I hear before my head snaps to the side from the impact of a fist hitting my face.
My vision blurs as I try to play catch-up and figure out who hit me and who the hell Lee is? It’s Matt, one of the Charlie Company recruits, and he must be talking about Annalise getting hurt a couple of hours ago.
I didn’t know they knew each other, but she is the only major injury that would have someone this worked up. Matt’s only been in my class for a couple of weeks, but I’ve never seen him like this—he is out of control, fueled by rage.
I wipe a hand across my lip, feeling the warm smear of blood on my fingers.
His anger’s so raw, it’s practically vibrating in the air between us.
He’s not thinking straight. I can see that.
And I’m not sure whether he’s more angry that she got hurt under my watch or that he’s scared for Annalise. Probably a mix of both.
“What the fuck did you do to her?” Matt growls, his voice like gravel, low and full of venom. He’s already winding up for another punch. The guy’s strong, quick, and if his anger wasn’t directed at me right now, I would be impressed.
I step back, trying to regain my balance, but it’s hard to keep my ground when Matt’s coming at me again and again, fists flying.
He’s already gotten in a few good punches that I will be feeling later.
He lunges for my chest, aiming to slam me into the wall.
This time, I’m able to find purchase on his arm before it connects, twisting it behind his back in one fluid motion, and pinning him to the floor.
“Calm the fuck down, Matt,” I bark at him, trying to keep my voice level. “She’s fine.”
Even as I say it, I know it comes out hollow.
It’s the same line I’ve used on dozens of recruits, when they were hurt or dazed, when they dissociated from pain, the body going into autopilot to cope.
But with Matt, it’s different. His anger is tangled up with something else, something deeper than protective instinct.
I don’t know who the hell Annalise is to him, but it’s clear she’s not just a fellow recruit. The way he’s acting, it’s like he’d like to tear me apart right now.
Did I completely misread our interaction this morning before the obstacle course? There’s no way, right? She was instigating my desire as much as I was trying to instigate hers. Not really important right now, Hunter…focus.