Page 42 of Bone Year

“My class won’t teach you to heal. The other professors, the softer ones, they handle that. This class teaches you to survive long enough to do the healing. To protect yourself and your patients. To stay alive when everything around you wants you dead.”

He gestures to the small group leaning against the bleachers. “The blood years will run drills, lead groups, help keep you in line. Listen to them like you listen to me.”

Lux elbows me gently. “Told you.”

“This year, we’ll cover basic defensive maneuvers, how to block and evade, create distance, as well as how to triage. The goal is to be able to assess a scene and make decisions in seconds.”

“Your father is a real charmer,” Ellavee drawls, and I snort.

“Gets it from my mother,” Lux fires back. “She’s worse.”

“Halfway through the year, I’ll take you to active fissure sites. You’ll see exactly what we’re training for and how you perform in the field.”

His eyes sweep across us. I think Lux stops breathing when her father’s gaze drifts to her. “Some of you will rise. Some won’t. Today, I’ll split you into groups, each led by myself or a blood year. Rotate through stations without complaints or embarrassing yourselves.”

The next two hours are complete hell.

We run laps first, and by the fifth lap my thighs are screaming. Jace keeps pace beside me even though I know he could run circles around the whole class without breaking a sweat.

“You’re doing great,” he offers.

“I’m dying.”

“Gracefully though.”

I laugh even though it hurts. “Shut up.”

He grins, and I hate that it makes me feel better. I hate that I notice the way his hair falls across his forehead when he runs, damp with sweat despite the cold. I hate that I’m noticing anything at all when I can barely breathe.

I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing here. I used to want to be a healer, and now I don’t know if I’m even capable of overcoming my shit and using a scalpel ever again.

I run until my mind is mush and I forget what I’m even stressed about.

Then we do stances and basic positioning. How to stand so you don’t get knocked down. Hands up to protect your center.

Malric is the blood year assigned to my group. He walks around correcting posture, kicking feet into wider stances without warning. He tells me I’m not protecting my core properly, and I’m pretty sure he does it just to put his hands on me. He touches my stomach and back, fixing my stance, and leans close to my ear. “Like this, Red.”

I want to vomit my lunch from the running and from him touching me, but I keep it together.

Lux catches my eye from across the group and makes a face like she’s plotting his murder. I give a slight shake of my head, because he’s not worth it.

We all got split up, but luckily Lux and I are in the same group of eight at the farthest end of the yard. We’re partnered for evasion drills. She throws slow strikes, and I practice dodging and blocking.

My arms ache from holding them up, and every time I drop my guard, she flicks my forehead.

“Stop that.” Flick. “Stop dropping your hands.”

I glare at her, gasping for air. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t grow up with a crazy Vanguard dad running me through drills. I’m dying over here. I wanted to be a healer, not a fucking combat fighter.”

“And I wanted a normal dad who makes pancakes on Sundays and doesn’t know eighteen ways to kill someone with a dinner fork.” She shrugs. “We don’t always get what we want.”

I laugh, “Eighteen?”

“Minimum.” Her expression softens. “I know he’s intense, but he means well. He doesn’t want any of us to get hurt out there, and he’s paranoid about when the next cycle could come.”

I nod as Bale bellows for everyone to gather.

“Time for a demonstration.” He stands at the center of the courtyard. “Bone years need to see what a real attack looks like, not training pace but real speed and intent.”