Page 57 of Shadow

She smirked; her English laced with a heavy accent. “You never know. He might send you back in several pieces.”

Cabel and I laughed as we headed out the door.

Chapter Twenty-One

Marinah

Istepped into the training room, my ever-present guards taking their usual positions outside the door because Boot wasn’t here yet. I started with warm-ups and stretches, though every movement felt like trying to bend a block of concrete. My head had stopped pounding, and my stomach had settled for now, but I knew that didn’t mean I was ready for whatever punishment the day held. I stretched awkwardly, wobbling to keep my balance, fully aware of how ridiculous I must have looked.

A soft giggle from the corner stopped me mid-stretch. I glanced toward the small cabinet near the wall, noting that my guards weren’t peering inside the room and that their attention remained focused on the hallway beyond. Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over, cautiously opening the cabinet door.

Large brown eyes met mine, sparkling with a mischievous glint that screamed,caught red-handed.His brown hair brushed his shoulders, and a smudge of dirt sat just beneath one eye. His light, burnished-brown skin spoke to his mother’s Cuban heritage. I lifted a finger to my lips, signaling for silence.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Che,” I whispered, taking a guess at who my tiny spy was while glancing back to ensure the door was fully closed giving the guards less of a chance of overhearing.

“My dad says you can’t even stand on your own two feet,” he whispered back with a cheeky grin.

“And you thought it would be funny to see for yourself?” I arched a brow, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.

He nodded, a giggle slipping out. “Yep.”

“I don’t mind being your daily humor fest, but I don’t want you in trouble,” I said. “How long do you think you’re capable of hiding in this cabinet?” I asked, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile.

He crossed his small arms and sat up straighter, only to bump his head lightly on the top shelf. Unfazed, he rolled his eyes with exaggerated confidence. “I’m big. I can hide all day.” A pause, then, with a tone of utmost seriousness, “And all night.”

It took everything I had not to laugh at his earnest expression. “You must stay very quiet, though,” I whispered. “If your dad or the guards find you, it’s all over.”

He nodded solemnly, the sparkle in his eyes undimmed. “I’m quiet. I can do it. I’m good at hiding.”

“Not quiet enough, munchkin. I heard you,” I teased.

He stuck out his tongue, the universal language of defiance.

“Your dad’s going to be here any minute,” I warned, giving him a mock stern look. “And we take breaks every two hours. If you get caught, don’t blame me.”

He giggled again, his mischief undiminished, so I put my finger back to my lips. He nodded with a conspiratorial grin, and I gently closed the cabinet door, leaving just a sliver of space for him to peek out. Maybe having an audience, one ready to laughat my every stumble, would push me to try harder. It was a desperate idea, but I was willing to give it a shot.

Boot strode into the room a moment later.

If I thought standing on a half-ball during our last session was bad, today’s routine proved it was just the warm-up. Jumping rope was the first disaster. I tangled myself up on the second jump, and Boot’s expression didn’t even flicker with sympathy. No amount of complaint earned me a reprieve.

Somehow, Che managed to keep his giggles to himself, which felt like a small miracle.

Next was pushing a sled contraption loaded with weights. My arms and legs screamed in protest as I shoved it from one end of the room to the other, gasping for air and shooting Boot murderous glances. He remained unimpressed.

But the knee dips were the worst. I balanced precariously on the half-ball, clutching Boot’s shoulder with one hand and gripping a hanging strap with the other. The strap, supposedly designed to help with balance, might as well have been a cruel joke. It dangled uselessly from the ceiling, offering no real support. Each time I dipped, I lost my footing and landed in a graceless heap.

“Again,” Boot said with no sympathy.

I glared at him but climbed back on the damned ball, determined not to give Che the satisfaction of seeing me give up. If nothing else, I would survive out of sheer spite.

“You need to engage your core,” Boot instructed, his tone frustratingly calm as I huffed my way over to grab some water, right above where my little spy was hiding.

“I don’t have a core,” I snapped, taking a long gulp. “A core isn’t needed to put numbers into a spreadsheet. A core isn’t needed to walk to and from my quarters, either at home or here. And a core sure as hell isn’t needed to put on a red stripe and die. So, keep your stupid core, and I’ll keep mine.”

So much for not wanting Che to see me defeated. If looks could kill, Boot would have already been sprawled out on the floor.

Boot crossed his arms, entirely unimpressed with my tirade. “You’re the secretary of defense now. Sitting at a desk and crunching numbers won’t save you. Walking to and from your quarters might not be hazardousyet, but in a few months, it could be. And then, all you’ll have is your core, quick reflexes, and—” he paused dramatically, his smirk deepening, “—that red stripe you’re so fond of. It might even match your complexion.”

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