Page 26 of The Last Dragon
I keep my eye on him as he slips around the corner. Chatter drifts as cadets drag their feet back to training. Mats fill in seconds. The silence cracks—crossbows get loaded, bolts slice the air. The sound of leather against leather fills the room. Sam tiptoes from behind me toward Leyon, startling me. I didn’t know he was around. He checks Leyon’s injury, furrowing a brow as he tries to help him get up.
“I’ll take him to the Medic’s Wing,” he says softly, slipping under Leyon’s arm and heading for the exit.
“What the hell are we supposed to do with someone like that in the expedition?” Eryca murmurs behind me, cautious enough for only me to hear.
“He won’t be coming with us on an expedition.”
There’s no way I’m letting him join the mission. I’ll have to make sure General Grogol won’t let him—regardless of whether I’m named Commander or not. Today, I’m going to let him enjoy whatever game he’s playing. But one of these days—if it comes to it—I’ll be the one breaking his bones.
CHAPTER 10
Iprefer peace and quiet. But with Nida stepping on my toes and always around me, it’s hard to find a moment to breathe. Instead, she chirps like a little bird, always angry that I’m keeping things from her or annoyed that I’m ignoring her. I don’t feel like I owe her anything. For the past three days, she’s been trying to talk to me about anything but training. But I shut it down quickly. We can talk about training. Anything outside of that is a waste of breath.
After a drill session, I move with silence, weaving through the stony halls, barely meeting anyone’s gaze. Out of everyone I pass, her boots echo the loudest. I’m keen enough to recognize every step, every friction against stone or gravel when it comes to her. I grit my teeth at the sound. My hand twitches, and I force my mind to go silent.
She’s already in front of me, blocking my path before I can disappear into the shadows. Eyes gleaming brownish-red, softcopper curls caressing her cheeks. She pulls one away from her mouth, forcing me to look at her lips for a split second. She says something, but I don’t register it until her fingers snap in front of me, bringing me back from a trance.
“You know you got real nerve,” she says, crossing her arms.
I clench my jaw, slowly curling my fingers into a fist.
Calm.Calm.
“What now?” I narrow my eyes. Maybe if I let her speak, vent, yell, then I can have some quiet.It’s bad enough I have to be her Hunter.
“It would be nice if you actually treated me as your Tracker instead of avoiding me every chance you get,” she snaps back, taking a step closer—more than I’m comfortable with.
“You put yourself in this situation.” The words slip out of me faster than I can contain them, a subtle bitterness left rolling on my tongue.
She lifts her brows. A scoff follows. “You think I asked for this?” For a moment, it sounds like she’s actually asking me this. As if she doesn’t know the answer herself. “I’m not exactly a fan of having to track for you either.”
“Well, that’s one thing we have in common then.” All this time, our eyes are locked. I break it as soon as I realize that. I glance above her head, her wild, untamed hair blurring in my vision as I scan the halls for the nearest exit. Soon.Soon,I can get out of this.
“You’re unbelievable,” she hisses, anger seeping through her words like a wild animal about to go feral. “After disappearing for eight years and making me think you’re dead, this is how I’m treated?” She sneers, looking me up and down. “So much for a long-lasting friendship.”“We were kids,” I say through my clenched jaw. “And friendships come and go. There’s no room for that in the Corps.”
She blows a curl from her face, and I just stare at her. Patiently waiting for her to move. Why can’t she understand? Why is she so bitter about it? Just because she’s my Tracker now doesn’t mean we have to be friends or talk about our past. We were never… friends.
“The only thing that kept me going was rumours about a soldier in the Corps who killed dragons with his bare hands. Pale as snow. I wasn’t sure it was you. I didn’t think you’d be alive.” She rakes me with her eyes again. “I had to join the Corps to see for myself.”
“Nobody told you to join,” I say coolly, but the twitch in my lips warns me that this conversation needs to end. Now.
“Ichoseto join!” she snaps. Another step closer, and I feel her breath against my skin. A flicker of doubt clouds her eyes. “At least I like to think so.” A flood of thoughts crosses her face as she drifts back. The perfect chance for me to slip away.
I step to the side, finding an opening between her and the wall. But she quickly snaps back, now shoulder to shoulder with me.
“Hey!” she exclaims. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I glance back, meeting her eyes as she grits her teeth. “Well,” I say calmly, turning my chest to her. “If you won’t get out of my way, then I’ll get out of yours.”
A dry laugh travels across the hall. Her lip trembles as if she’s holding back thousands of curses she wants to spit at me. Her eyes are feral, deadly. Not something I’m used to seeing in her. In fact, not something I’ve ever seen in her. It’s like staring into an uncontrollable wildfire. Rage. The type I had as a first-year.
“You really—”
“This is the reason I keep telling General Grogol he should implement Disciplinary during Assessment Year,” I snap, my voice cool. Controlled. I don’t need to yell or tense my body for her to listen. I know she has to listen.Wantsto listen. “Because every damn year, we get soldiers like you,” I continue,taking a step closer, forcing her to retreat. Whatever look I have on my face, it quickly puts out her fire. “Emotional,” I say. Another step. “Weak. Volatile.” Her breath catches, and I can faintly hear her heart pounding in her chest. Her stance falters for a minute. I take a step back, creating distance—comfortabledistance. “Disciplinary would crush your doubts, strip away your softness and recklessness. Turn you into a soldier. But I guess the battlefield will teach you. Hopefully in time.”
I turn on my heel, letting my footsteps break the silence—onlymyfootsteps. I can nearly sense the fresh air on the rooftop that I long for. Thick air, to be more precise. But air nonetheless.
“What makes you think I can’t be a soldier?” Her voice travels across the hall—calm. Sharp. Different. It pulls me back and forces me to halt. I’m unsure how or why—but I stop. “What makes you so fucking special to tell me that I don’t have what it takes?”
