Page 43 of The Last Dragon
“Their temperament is the same,” I say bluntly.
“Not really.” She scoffs. “There’s a minor difference in—”
“Temperament or not,” I interrupt. “Female or male. Youfroze. I won’t let my Tracker do that.”
“Oh great,” she drawls. “Now I’m your Tracker again, huh?”
“Not yet, you’re not,” I snap back, the fire igniting again. But I calm myself down just as quickly. “Not a proper one at least.”
“Fine,” she mutters. “Maybe Wain should just train me more—”
“No.” I step closer. “What you need is to reach my level. My standards.Myway of fighting.” My voice drops, steady, certain. “And I’m the only one who can get you there. ” She takes a step back.
I lean in until our eyes are level. “You’ll be training under me.”
CHAPTER 16
Nida refused my offer to train her. She said she’s perfectly fine without me nagging her daily. But that won’t do. If we want to communicate better, I have to train her. No matter how annoying that sounds.
My eyes burn like they’re filled with grit, and no amount of rubbing can erase the weight of two sleepless nights. The cafeteria’s quieter today. Fewer people. But the whispers of the Redsnout still circle. Though nobody seems to mention it being female. No confused looks on their faces, no trembling hands, no doubt. Everyone is buried in their duties—strength training, anatomy class, or recording the dead. If you’re not cleaning up the mess the Redsnout left us, that is.
I push my food around with a fork—not hungry today. Nida sits beside me, her shoulder lightly brushing mine—like she’s trying to hide. She’s still pissed at me but she needs to learn to let go, and fast.
The rest of the unit sits in front, babbling about something I can’t make out. It’s as if I hear their voices, but don’t register the words. My mind drifts, trying to make sense of it all, grasping for something I missed or forgot.
I strain to recall what happened, brow furrowed—then a bolt of pain pierces my skull. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing a palm to my forehead as distant words fill my head.
The Redsnout is female.
The same words Nida said. But it’s not her voice.
A light touch on my shoulder pulls me back—I’m still in public, still surrounded.
“Are you alright?” Nida whispers, her palm placed on my shoulder.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” she says, her hand sliding down to grab mine. “You’re burning up.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She inhales sharply, her eyes still glued to me, observing me like I’m a puzzle that needs to be solved. I drop my gaze, turning back to my food—until the clatter of her fork draws my attention again. I glance at her, then her hand. Bruises mark her knuckles. I grab her hand and lift it before she can pull away.
“What’s this?” My voice is lower than I expected. My jaw stings from the tension of grinding my teeth.
“It’s nothing.” She tenses, gently curving her fingers over my hand.
I tilt my head, brushing my thumb lightly over the bruised skin. She flinches, but doesn’t draw back. “Nothing doesn’t leave bruises.”
She shifts her weight, as if debating whether to pull her hand free, but I squeeze hers tighter. I raise my brow, waiting for her to respond. She rolls her eyes, her shoulders dropping.
“I hit something,” she says with a sigh.
That answer doesn’t give me closure. Closure that I apparently need. My grip tightens. “Try again.”
Thismattersto me.
She lets out another sigh. “Punching bags.” Her eyes drop. “In the training grounds. There are punching bags.” She grinds her teeth. “It helps.”
