Page 59 of Shadow Caster
He had a point.
“It isn’t our problem,” Master Hyde reiterated. “We have a job to do, and we need to focus on that. If shadow cadets start losing their memories, then we’ll reassess. Until then, it’s business as usual.”
God, he could be cold.
Harmon muttered something under his breath that I didn’t quite catch.
Master Hyde strode out of the room, and Larkin clapped his paws together. “As you were, cadets. As you were. Make sure to check your rotation for the next two weeks.” He leapt off the table and vanished.
“This is bullshit,” Harmon said. “We need to know how this student lost his memory, where he was found, and if he was hurt.”
He was right. There wasn’t nearly enough information. “I don’t think it’s a virus.”
“Me either,” Thomas said. “A virus doesn’t explain why Lottie’s shoe was found one place and her body in the other. It doesn’t explain the blood and the signs of struggle.”
I agreed with all of this. “We can pop to med bay tomorrow and speak to the nurse. Find out what happened to the second victim.”
The guys nodded.
The lounge was emptying out, but Lloyd loitered.
“Hey, Justice,” he called out.
I looked over. “You and your friends are on barracks one duty with us next week.” He jerked his head toward the notice board on the other side of the room. A white sheet of paper was pinned to it. “Rota is up.” He followed his troop out of the lounge.
“We better get some rest,” Thomas said. “Only thirteen days until the trial.”
He and Harmon left for bed, and I headed out of the lounge toward the master quarters.
Although nightbloods didn’t need as much sleep as regular supernaturals, I’d always reveled in it. Besides, being awake during the day while everyone else slept didn’t appeal. The extra sleep would come in handy because I had a one-on-one session with Hyde at sunset, and for some reason, I was eager to impress.
Nineteen
Oomf. I body-slammed the ground for the fifth time.
“Up,” Hyde ordered.
Shit. I shook myself off and leapt to my feet, fists up, ready to defend.
“No.” He shook his head. “Attack.”
Fuck. I lunged. He blocked and then slammed a palm into my chest, sending me flying backward in some kind of move from a martial arts movie. Damn, any minute now, he’d leap up and start running in the air or something.
I rubbed my breastbone, shooting him a disgruntled glare and earning a slight smirk in response.
The fucker was enjoying this.
Losing was not in my nature. It wasn’t in my DNA, and it wasn’t happening today.
Not a competition.
Training.
Fuck you, inner voice of reason.
He hadn’t been kidding about not holding back. Dried blood coated the back of my hands and crusted my lips from where he’d landed a punch to my face. Thank God I healed fast, but damn, it had hurt. Twenty minutes of being thrown around was starting to bruise my ego.
We’d met at sundown. No breakfast or shower yet. Official training started in two hours, and I hadn’t succeeded in landing a hit yet.
