Chapter 8
The next day, Zion left early, and I was spared the displeasure of seeing him around the house.
During the procedure, we exposed the patient’s spinal column, and while Ambrose regenerated the nerves and ruptured cervical discs, I helped reposition the vertebrae and control blood loss.
As a novice, the doctor wouldn’t let me take on complex cases alone, but this was one of my small dreams. Just being able to participate as an assistant had me euphoric, and I wore a satisfied smile all morning.
In the afternoon, I took another beating during Zion’s insane sparring sessions, this time with Naoki.
Just like Ethan, he didn’t hold back, which earned me more sore ribs and bruises on my hip.
The injuries would bother me until nightfall and disappear by morning, just like the black eye from the day before.
Now we were in the last class of the day: the damned knife target practice.
Unlike Cauê, Zion had set a minimum of ten hits, and we couldn’t leave until we completed it.
“By the gods, you’re terrible,” Breno exclaimed, watching me in disbelief as he raised his hand toward me. I closed my eyes and took another painful flick to the forehead.
He’d finished his ten hits ages ago, but I’d promised that if he stayed to help me, I’d let him flick my forehead every time I missed the inner ring of the target. Forty minutes later, my forehead was already red.
“No, Kay! Damn it, not like that. You have to hold the knife firmly, but your wrist needs to be relaxed, and you need to control your breathing. Watch my demonstration.” Breno took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he threw the knife. It hit the inner circle of the target.
We were on a large lawn behind the gymnasium. There were individual target practice bays, each separated by a force field. In each bay was a table with twenty knives per student, and when they ran out, we’d go to the target to collect them. I took another flick and blinked in disbelief.
“I’m doing what you said!” I threw another knife. It hit the target handle-first and fell onto the grass.
Since I’d started, I’d only landed four throws. Only Hiro, Adele, Aish, and I remained; the rest had already finished and left to change.
“If you were doing it right, you’d be done by now. You’ve thrown about a hundred times. Even by sheer luck, you should’ve stuck ten by now.”
“There must be something wrong with my knives.” I examined the cold blade in my hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with them,” Breno said, taking the knife from me and throwing it. He hit the center of the target and gave me another flick. “See! It’s not your knives—you’re just terrible. For the love of the gods!”
“Aren’t friends supposed to motivate us?” I grumbled, stepping back and rubbing my forehead.
“Stop being soft and try again.” The boy laughed, gesturing toward the target.
I took a deep breath and threw the knife the way he’d shown me. This time, I stuck it in the outer circle of the target. Five hits total.
“Now only five more to go,” he said with a grin, holding out another blade to me.
I was about to take it when something rustled in the empty space behind Breno, and our eyes went wide as we realized someone was there.
“Lutiève?” Zion materialized from my shadow like a ghost, making us both jump. “The orders were to land ten hits and leave. What are you still doing here?”
My friend started to open his mouth to say something that would probably infuriate the general. But before he could, I elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up.
“Breno was already leaving. It’s my fault for asking him to stay.”
I apologized to Zion and pushed my friend toward the locker room. He waved, squinting at me, and left without a word. The dirty look he shot me said it all.
“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” the trainer asked, studying me.
I thought about giving a half-answer, but I held back and reconsidered.
In all our conversations, I’d been evasive, hiding most of what I actually thought.
I’d figured it would be easier to get along that way.
That’s how we’d ended up with zero progress.
I decided, right then, to try being more honest.
“Because I’d end the day with you yelling at me about how terrible I am.”
Zion kept staring at me, the kind of look that made me break out in a cold sweat.
“What kind of trainer would I be if I did that?”
“Your kind of trainer?” I shot back, arching an eyebrow.
He snorted and shook his head.
“I’m not going to fight with you if you’re making an effort to learn. Just tell me what the difficulty is.”
Across the range, Adele finished hitting her targets and left.
Before going, though, she shot me a hard look.
I couldn't help but notice her pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes.
It was no secret she was into heavy drugs, and this was clearly the aftermath of another all-nighter.
I turned back to Zion, ignoring the recruit's disgusted stare.
“I can't get the blade to stick in the target. Any suggestions, general?”
“I asked you not to call me that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. The movement made his pecs stand out under the black t-shirt, and for a split second, all I could think about was whether they'd feel as firm as they looked. I shook my head, pushing away the stupid thought as my cheeks burned.
“You're a general,” I teased, trying to sound serious.
“Not to you.”
I stared at him, and he stared right back.
“And what are you to me?”
His gaze didn't waver for a single second. My toes curled inside my shoes, and I felt like ice was rattling around in my stomach.
“Your trainer,” he replied flatly.
“Okay, general.”
He clicked his tongue in disapproval, and I tried to hide a small smile. Getting under his skin was proving surprisingly satisfying. Zion spun a knife in his hands and focused on the target in front of us.
“Watching your attempts, I noticed that when you throw, you focus more on where you want to hit than on your technique.
Your brain's gotten used to grabbing the handle and throwing on autopilot. So, to force yourself to pay attention, I suggest holding it by the blade.” Zion threw the knife the way he'd described.
It hit dead center of the inner circle. “Try it this way.”
He disappeared into my shadow and reappeared near the target, pulling out the knife, then materialized back at my side. That shadow thing was the strangest power I'd ever seen in Interion, and I was dying to ask how it worked, but I held back.
“I didn't know you could do it that way.” I held the knife by the blade, took a deep breath, and focused on the movement, not the target. When I threw, it flew faster and hit the second circle, sticking in the blue margin. “Gods of the divine, did you see that?!”
Hiro and Aish passed by and laughed when they saw me so excited about something so trivial.
I grabbed another knife, took a breath, and prepared myself.
When I threw, I hit the target again. A warm glow of satisfaction spread through my chest. Zion looked like he wanted to smile but kept his mouth in a straight line, shoving his hands in his pockets for some reason and looking away.
“I need to go now, but feel free to finish on your own.”
I nodded and watched as the general walked away, leaving me with the knives.
The lights came on around the campus, marking 7 p.m., and the last traces of sunlight were already fading from the horizon.
I made a few more throws and missed most of them.
But after twenty minutes, I managed to hit the day's goal: six in the outer circle and four in the middle.
Even though it had taken a while and ninety percent of my throws had missed, it was a good start.
The other instructor had never required a minimum number of hits, so I'd never worried much—I just threw the knives without any specific goal.
Zion wasn't the type to let anything slip past him. I'd noticed during training that a shadow or two would slither among us whenever he wasn't around, watching what he couldn't see himself. It was a little creepy, but no one said anything—we weren't stupid enough for that, not even the quartet.
After organizing my bay, I left the shooting range and headed to the locker room.
I walked with my eyes scanning my surroundings.
In moments like these, alone at the academy, fear crept up my spine—cold and sticky, like a snake about to strike.
I swallowed hard, eyeing every shadow and every place where someone could hide.
I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the chill spreading down my spine and urging me to get out of there.
I knew I should stop cowering around the other students, but my fear of the fae—specifically the men—overrode everything else.
It left me tense, nervous, and paranoid, and I hated feeling that way.
I hurried to my locker and opened the magic-sealed door. I grabbed my bag and training backpack, then closed it silently. With my nerves on edge, I rushed out. Only when I stepped inside the house did I finally let myself breathe.