Chapter 1: The Last Fight, the First Test
The mat echoed with a sickening thump. Again. Eve stepped back, chest heaving, sweat stinging the shallow cut under her left eye. Her knuckles throbbed where the knuckle-duster had scraped her skin raw. The fifth trainee this session lay sprawled, groaning, clutching his ribs.
Around them, the vast, sterile combat arena hummed with the brutal symphony of training: the sharp crack of wood on pads, the grunts of effort, the rhythmic slaps of bare feet on polished concrete. Mirrors lining one wall fractured the violence into a dozen flickering repetitions – a kaleidoscope of grimaces and strained muscles. The sharp tang of sweat mixed with the faint, acrid scent of ozone from the malfunctioning overhead lights.
"Enough." Agent Davies's voice cut through the din like a blade. He hadn't shouted. He never needed to. He stood near the entrance, arms folded across his chest, silhouette sharp against the harsh fluorescents. His expression, as always, was carved from granite. Unreadable.
Eve didn't relax. She stayed coiled, weight balanced on the balls of her feet, eyes scanning Davies, then the groaning man on the mat, then the other pairs still sparring. Blood drummed in her ears, a frantic counterpoint to her ragged breathing.
Davies gestured with a slight tilt of his head. She approached, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist, smearing the blood trickling from the cut. ThEve’s knuckles split open as her fist connected with the sparring dummy’s jaw—again, again, until the leather split like overripe fruit. Blood smeared the sand-filled canvas, her breath ragged in the hollow silence of the training arena. Around her, the other recruits had stopped to watch. Again.
She wiped her face with the back of her wrist. Sweat stung her eyes.
"Six minutes flat."
Agent Davies’ voice cut through the hum of the ventilation system. He stood at the edge of the mat, arms crossed, face unreadable. The fluorescent lights overhead made the scars on his hands look like pale worms burrowed under skin.
Eve straightened, rolling her shoulder to pop the joint back into place. "I can go again."
Davies didn’t blink. "No, you can’t."
"I’m not done."
"You are." He tossed her a towel. It hit her chest with a damp slap. "Five opponents in one session? You’re not training anymore, Eve. You’re punishing yourself."
She caught the towel before it hit the ground. The fabric reeked of bleach and something metallic—probably blood from the last poor bastard who’d used it. "What’s the point of being here if I’m not pushing?"
"The point," Davies said, stepping closer, "is learning when to stop before you break." His voice dropped, just for her. "You think the field’s gonna care how many times you can hit something before your hands give out? They won’t. But I do."
Eve exhaled through her nose. The air tasted like rubber mats and the sharp tang of someone’s nervous sweat.
Davies nodded toward the door. "Shower. Then my office."
She didn’t move. "Why?"
"Because your combat scores are flawless. Which means we’re done with this part of your training." A pause. Deliberate. "Tomorrow, you start interrogation techniques."
Something cold slithered down Eve’s spine. Interrogation meant more than just fists. It meant psychology. Deception.
Seduction.
Davies watched her like he could already see the protest forming behind her teeth. "You got a problem with that?"
Eve flexed her fingers. The split skin stung. "No."
"Good." He turned to leave, then stopped. "Oh—and Eve? You’re not doing it alone."
She frowned. "Who’s running the session?"
Davies didn’t smile. But his eyes did, just a little. "Izzy."
The name landed like a punch.
Izzy. The woman who could make a confession slip out of someone’s mouth without ever touching them. The one recruit Eve had never been able to pin in sparring because Izzy didn’t fight like the others—she moved like smoke, all suggestion and no substance.
Eve’s stomach tightened.
Davies was halfway to the door when he threw the last word over his shoulder. "Don’t be late."
The shower water burned her raw skin. Eve stood under the spray, letting it turn her muscles liquid, her mind racing.
She’d spent months learning how to break bones. Now she had to learn how to break resolve.
And the best teacher the academy had?
Was the one person Eve wasn’t sure she could look in the eye.
She turned off the water. Dripping, she caught her reflection in the fogged mirror. The woman staring back had shadows under her eyes and a mouth set in a hard line.
Tomorrow, that woman would have to become someone else entirely.
Eve grabbed her clothes.
She wasn’t ready.
But she’d never admit it.