Totally normal.
Completely fine.
Not at all a sign of psychological deterioration.
My hands flex at my sides—open, close, open, close—four times each before I shove them into the pockets of my shredded shorts.
The scent of Ruthless Academy at this hour is distinct: ozone from faulty electrical systems, petrichor from yesterday's rain, concrete dust, and underneath it all—always, always underneath—the sharp metallic tang of old blood.
It never quite washes away.
No matter how much they hose down the plazas, scrub the walls, replace the stained concrete.
Blood has a way of lingering.
Like trauma.
Like memory.
Like the ghost of who I used to be before I became this.
"Ro," I whisper, my breath misting slightly in the cool air. "Status report."
"Current time: 5:39 AM. Temperature: 54 degrees Fahrenheit. Humidity: 73%. Path ahead clear for approximately forty-seven meters. Multiple heat signatures detected in peripheral zones but not in direct?—"
She stops abruptly.
My body goes still—that absolute, predatory stillness that comes from years of training, from understanding that sometimes survival means not breathing.
"Ro?"
"Movement detected. Three heat signatures converging on your position from?—"
The grin spreads across my face before I can stop it.
Wide. Manic. Hungry.
Oh.
Oh, this is delicious.
I come to a complete stop in the middle of the path, right where the streetlights create a pool of sickly yellow illumination. Making myself a target. Making myselfvisible.
Come on.
Come on.
Come on.
How long has it been since my last fight? A week? Two? My fingers itch for the weight of my blades, my body practically vibrating with the need to move, to dance, to paint the concrete in arterial spray.
Unlike Dead Knot—where students are encouraged to use any weapon they can get their hands on, including long-distance snipers and homemade explosives that turn the forest into a war zone—Ruthless Academy has specific rules about combat.
Close quarters only.
Handheld weapons: swords, daggers, knuckle braces, garrotes, anything that requires you to be intimate with your violence.
No guns.
