Page 74 of Shadow

“You’re depending on me too much,” he replied calmly. “You need to learn to trust your own feet. You’re standing just fine now. Try lifting one toe and pointing it toward the door.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll do it if you come here and keep me from falling.”

Boot crossed his arms tighter, the stubborn man. “I’ll watch from here, thank you.”

First Beck and now Boot. The two of them were almost worse than King when it came to testing my patience.

With a resigned sigh, I lifted my toes as instructed, pointing them toward the door. To my surprise, I stayed upright. Maybe Boot had a point, and I had been leaning on him too much.

After repeating the exercise a few times, Boot moved on to kickboxing.

When he had first handed me the gloves weeks ago, I thought he’d lost his mind. Now, it was my favorite part of training.

Finally, Boot stepped closer, raising the mitts he was wearing. We moved through the fighting sequences that had once felt impossible but now flowed like second nature.

“Keep your elbows pulled in and your fists up,” he reminded me as I threw a jab.

For the next hour, I lost myself in the rhythm of punching and kicking. My arms and legs moved in perfect coordination as I jabbed, hooked, kicked, and finished with a strong uppercut. I sweat bullets and didn’t care.

“You need a break?” Boot asked finally.

I wiped the sweat from my face. “No, I need to work on endurance along with balance. Could we go jogging?” Even as the words left my mouth, I couldn’t believe I was the one saying them.

“Not today,” Boot replied, shaking his head. “The island’s on lockdown. King needs to catch those men.”

Left jab, right hook.

“You think it’s the Federation too, don’t you?” I asked, watching him closely.

His expression didn’t change as he studied my movements. “It’s not the first time the Federation has tried to assassinate King.”

I paused mid-swing, frustration bubbling up inside me. “I don’t understand. If they want him dead, why did they send me here?”

Boot glanced over the mitts. “This time, jab twice with your left and uppercut with your right.”

I grit my teeth but followed his instructions. My arms and legs moved automatically; my feet solid beneath me as I executed the combination.

“King will explain what he wants you to know when he gets back,” Boot said.

“Exactly,” I snapped. “What hethinksI need to know. Problem is, I want the truth.”

Boot sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “You want me dead, is that it? Because that’s exactly what’ll happen if I open my mouth.”

“Argh!” I groaned, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “I just want to understand what’s happening.”

He ignored my outburst, focusing instead on my strikes. After about fifty repetitions of the combination, he added kicks: forward, side, and back.

It had only been two months, but six hours a day had been the trick. Even I couldn’t deny how much I had improved. The once-crippling muscle pain was now just a dull ache, and I actually enjoyed the small reminders of progress that came with training.

I often wondered if my father had kept me untrained for a reason. I knew he wanted to keep me safe, his only daughter shielded from the harsh realities of our world. But by not teaching me to fight, he had left me vulnerable.

Boot had been patient, for the most part, never making me feel like I was incapable of learning. He had even started laughing when I fell. It wasn’t in a mean-spirited way, but in that annoyingyou’ll get therekind of way. And the truth was, I had grown to appreciate his company.

Che sneaked into the training room a few times a week, hiding in his favorite cupboard until we took a break. He giggled from his hiding spot, offering his unfiltered critiques with mischievous grins.

For a little guy, he was surprisingly bold and entirely too good at pointing out my flaws.

But even his teasing had become something I looked forward to. It was hard not to smile when he cackled like a tiny gremlin every time I stumbled.

---