"The worst part about being underestimated is having to maintain the act."
***
The western training yard felt like stepping into a gladiator’s arena where I was scheduled to be the entertainnt.
Morning mist clung to the worn stone in wispy tendrils. Curled around the bases of practice dummies and weapon racks like spectral fingers reluctant to release their grip. The familiar scent of oiled leather and cold steel mixed with sothing else. The sharp tang of suspicion that seed to follow everywhere these days.
I hobbled across the courtyard. Each step a carefully choreographed performance of pain.
My left hand pressed against my ribs while my right gripped the rough stone wall for support. Fingertips scraped against centuries-old mortar that crumbled slightly beneath my touch.
The limp wasn’t entirely fabricated. Vance’s [Power Strike] had left genuinely battered. The mory of that brutal blow still echoed through my bones with every movent.
But I amplified every wince. Every careful breath. Every mont of hesitation.
Reinforce the persona. Always reinforce the persona.
I let my shoulders round forward. Kept my gaze fixed on the ground a few feet ahead. Moved with the shuffling gait of soone who expected the world to kick him while he was down and had simply accepted it.
The other House Onyx students parted before like I carried so contagious disease.
Marcus Vellum actually stepped sideways into a weapon rack to avoid getting too close. His elbow connected with the wooden fra and nearly knocked over a rack of training swords. The weapons clattered against each other with a discordant tallic song. Drew a few irritated glances from nearby students.
Marcus’s face flushed red. But he still refused to et my eyes. Apparently decided that the embarrassnt of his clumsiness was preferable to any association with House Onyx’s resident punching bag.
Nice to know I’m so popular.
Thomlin Ashworth suddenly developed an intense fascination with his boots. Studied the worn leather as if it contained the secrets of the universe. His fingers worried at a loose thread on his sleeve. The morning light caught the nervous sweat beading on his forehead as he determinedly looked anywhere but in my direction.
Only Fen remained unmoved.
Her golden eyes tracked my progress with the sa interest a wolf shows a wounded deer. Patient. Predatory. Utterly certain of the outco.
"Well, well. Look what crawled out of the infirmary."
Fen’s voice carried across the yard with a predatory rumble that made several students instinctively step back. She stood near the sparring circles with her arms crossed over her chest. The torn sleeves of her modified uniform revealed the corded muscle of her forearms.
Her copper-red hair caught the morning light like living fla. Wild and untad despite her complete disregard for any attempt at styling it.
Everything about her posture scread barely contained violence. The slight forward tilt of her shoulders. The way her tail lashed behind her in agitated sweeps. The red fur bristling with each movent. Her pointed ears twitched at so sound I couldn’t hear. Probably tracking the heartbeats of everyone within striking distance.
Note to self: wolf-kin have really good hearing. Be more careful about what I mutter under my breath.
"Surprised you showed up at all, Leone. Most people with any sense would’ve stayed in bed after getting their ribs rearranged." Her lips curled back to reveal her sharp canines in what might charitably be called a smile. If one had never seen an actual smile before. "Then again, sense was never your strong suit, was it?"
I paused in my shuffle. Let my shoulders slump further. Made myself smaller. Wrapped my arms around my midsection as if the very act of standing was causing pain.
Which, to be fair, it partially was.
"Had to co. Can’t afford to miss more classes."
"Can’t afford to miss classes?" Fen’s laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. Her canines flashed in the morning light as her head tilted back with genuine amusent. The sound echoed off the stone walls of the training yard. Drew the attention of students who had been pretending not to watch.
"You can barely stand upright, and you’re worried about attendance? What’s next, are you going to challenge Blackthorne to a rematch? Maybe ask him to hit you harder this ti?"
She took a step forward. Her movent smooth as water and twice as dangerous.
"Or maybe you want to finish what Thorne started. Save everyone the trouble of watching you wheeze through another training session."
Tempting offer, wolf-girl. Real tempting.
A few nervous laughs rippled through the gathered students. Most had the good sense to look uncomfortable rather than amused. House Onyx might be the dregs of Solare. But even dregs had a pecking order. Watching Fen toy with soone lower on that order was a reminder of how quickly anyone could beco the next target.
Before I could stamr out a suitably pathetic response, the familiar sound of boots on stone announced Professor Isolde De Clare’s arrival.
The rhythm of her footsteps was distinctive. Heavy. Purposeful. The stride of soone who had spent years commanding battlefields and saw no reason to change her approach for a re academy courtyard.
She erged from the equipnt shed like a force of nature barely contained in human form. Her presence imdiately shifted the atmosphere of the yard from casual cruelty to sothing more dangerous.
Her chestnut hair hung loose around her shoulders in wild disarray. Clearly having resisted whatever minimal effort she’d made to ta it that morning. The silver flask glinted in her hand. Its dented surface caught the light as she took a long pull from it without breaking stride.
But it was her amber eyes that made my skin crawl.
They fixed on the mont she appeared. Tracked my movent with an intensity that set off every alarm bell in my head.
There was nothing casual about that gaze.
It was the look of a battlefield commander who had spotted sothing that didn’t quite fit. An irregularity in the expected pattern that demanded investigation.
Shit.
This is exactly what I didn’t want.
She’s watching too closely.
Professor De Clare leaned against a weapon rack. The worn wood creaked slightly under her weight. She took another pull from her flask before speaking. The liquid inside sloshed audibly in the morning quiet.
"Leone. What are you doing here?"
I straightened as much as my "injuries" would allow. Put on my best impression of a dutiful student who wanted nothing more than to fulfill his obligations despite his obvious physical limitations.
My spine protested the movent. A genuine twinge of pain that I allowed to flicker across my face for her benefit.
"Reporting for training, Professor. I know I’m not at full capacity, but I thought perhaps so light exercises—"
"Nonsense."
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