As we stepped into the corridor, I hurried to catch up to him. “Can you slow down? Not all of us are like ten feet tall and built like a grumpy grizzly bear.” I grumbled.
He didn’t slow, didn’t flinch. “Move faster.”
“Right,” I muttered. “Because it’s just that easy.”
His jaw ticked, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between us like wire, tight and humming. I hated how heavy the air always felt around him, like even my thoughts had to tread lightly.
“You don’t say much,” I said, finally.
“I don’t need to,” he replied. “You speak loud enough for both of us.”
I almost laughed.Touche
We eventually made it to a large and empty arena.
He pointed to the running track that raced around it. “Ten laps to start. Go.”
I stared at him. “You’re serious?”
Slade didn’t answer. Just crossed his arms and gave a single, sharp nod.
I muttered curses under my breath and started running, the slap of my sneakers echoing off the high arena walls. The track stretched around a vast, empty space, and every step felt heavier than the last. By the second lap, my lungs were burning. By the fourth, my legs were lead.
He didn’t move. Just stood there like stone, arms folded, eyes locked on me with the intensity of a predator. Not judging. Just watching.
My body was still weak from the streets. I hated it.
By the seventh lap, I started to falter. On the ninth, I stumbled. Hard. My knee hit the ground, sharp pain lancing up my leg.
Slade didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t speak.
Jaw clenched, I pushed myself up and finished the tenth lap, breath ragged and body shaking.
I stopped in front of him, sweat pouring down my spine. “Happy?”
He met my gaze. Then, after a beat, gave the faintest nod.
That was it.
I glared at him. “You’re not gonna say anything?”
Slade’s eyes flicked over me. Then, finally, a quiet murmur: “Better than I thought.”
I blinked, surprised.
He turned and walked away.
No praise. No orders. No explanation.
Just silence—and the expectation that I would follow.
Slade didn’t give me long.
He stepped into the circle of the arena’s centre and tossed something toward me — a dull wooden training sword. I barely caught it before it smacked me in the face.
“Up,” he said simply.
I straightened. “No break?”
