Fletcher rubbed the towel across his damp hair, drying it the best he could in the steamy bathroom. For the first time in nearly a week he’d gotten a chance for a proper shower and shave. He stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror, trying not to grimace every time he noticed his maroon irises.

  Clean clothes waited nearby, and he eagerly changed into them. He didn’t expect much from the birthday celebration, and they weren’t doing anything special until that evening at dinner anyway, but Addy and Jeric had taken it upon themselves to keep him company the rest of the day until then. It seemed he was going to have to go through with that tour Addy kept threatening him with after all.

  The clothes were almost military, but a little more casual and in a different color than the uniforms the soldiers wore. The tan pants were the right fit for comfortably moving around and the black t-shirt was light and breathable.

  Fletcher bundled his old clothes under one arm and exited the small bathroom into his dad’s temporary quarters that he was sharing until they got him his own assigned space. His dad was off doing something important, leaving the studio apartment empty except for himself.

  He tossed his dirty clothes into the bin he took to be a laundry basket and pulled on the properly fitting boots he’d finally been given. It still hurt to wear shoes at all since his old boots gave him a plethora of blisters as a parting gift—all of these ones given after the strange healing—but he’d plastered bandaids all over his feet to protect them this time around.

  Jeric and Addy waited just outside the room in the hallway. Addy smiled, her constant excitement and enthusiasm starting to take on a fakeness, while Jeric remained his aloof self.

  “We’ve got something fun planned this time around.” Addy motioned for Jeric to take the lead down the hallway.

  “More fun than getting trapped in a Hex Cloud for two days?” Fletcher asked with a smile.

  Addy grimaced a little. “Sorry about that by the way. We’re now under orders to keep someone by your side at all times if you go outside.”

  He rolled his eyes, not wanting to think about the annoyance that was his mother. “What’s the plan?”

  “A surprise.” Jeric glanced back, his eyes showing just a hint of amusement.

  Based on his friend’s new found excitement, Fletcher had a feeling he was not going to enjoy whatever they had in store for him. That feeling proved correct when they entered a training room of some kind, full of mats and sandbags. Nobody else was there, but Fletcher knew what this kind of space was for.

  “I’m not interested in fighting.” He crossed his arms and remained in the doorway.

  “You nearly got assassinated a couple of months ago. Are you really going to turn down a chance to learn a few self-defense skills?” Jeric was already by the largest of the mats, bent over to remove his boots.

  “‘Nearly’ is the key word. Whoever told you about that might have left out the part where I actually killed my attacker.”

  “Through pure luck.”

  Addy shoved Fletcher forward. “Don’t think of it as fighting. It’s just exercise in a way you might not be used to. Oh, and there are no [Skills] allowed in this. Keep it purely physical.” That part seemed directed mainly at Jeric since Fletcher didn’t have any [Skills] that could be of use in this situation anyway.

  Seeing no way out of it, Fletcher conceded and walked to the mat where Jeric was already stretching. With his uniform jacket off, Fletcher realized two important things. First, just how muscular his friend had become, and secondly, that because of that, he was going to spend the whole time getting pounded to a pulp if he was up against Jeric.

  He and Addy took their shoes off, and Addy her jacket, and then they both joined Jeric in stretching. Fletcher didn’t mind that part so much, but it wasn’t long before Jeric declared it was time to start and pulled him to his feet.

  The three of them stood in a small triangle on the mat, Jeric and Fletcher facing each other with Addy a few feet to the side in the manner of a coach or referee.

  “Ready?” She looked between the two.

  Jeric nodded, a sadistic grin on his face.

  Fletcher wished he understood why Jeric had such a problem with him, but then again, it seemed like nearly everyone he’d seen since leaving Bren’it’p had some kind of beef with him.

  “No. I have no idea what I’m even doing,” Fletcher protested.

  “This is just a chance for us to see where your skills currently are.” Addy smiled as she dropped her hand to begin the match, cutting off any further complaints from him.

  Fletcher looked at Jeric only to find his friend had already crossed the distance separating them, leaving him no time to duck out of the way as a punch slammed into his stomach.

  Gasping, he was about to fall to his knees, his hands over his abdomen when Jeric grabbed his shoulders and tossed him backwards so he lay flat on his back. Before Fletcher could even think of trying to stand up, Jeric’s foot was planted firmly on his chest, keeping him down and limiting his breathing.

  “That was pitiful.” Jeric stared down at him, doing nothing to hide his glee at having so easily bested him.

  “I wasn’t ready,” Fletcher argued, shoving Jeric’s foot off so he could sit up.

  Addy came over and helped him to his feet. She then positioned his arms into a classic fighting stance, both fists raised at chest level. “Make sure to stay on the balls of your feet. Let’s try this again.”

  She glanced at Jeric. “Ready?”

  He nodded.

  She turned to Fletcher. “Ready?”

  Fletcher took a breath and nodded as well, keeping his weight forward so his heels didn’t touch the ground.

  Addy dropped her hand, and once again Jeric pounced forward. Thanks to some proper preparation, Fletcher was ready for it and spun to the side to avoid the fists flying towards him. Jeric seemed off balance, so he used the opening to throw his own hit towards the taller man’s chest, but he’d miscalculated Jeric’s speed. His friend grabbed his wrist as his arm reached out, and in an instant the part-[Bloodhound] threw Fletcher back to the ground.

  This time, instead of declaring that the end, Jeric went to the floor with him and sat on top of him. He used his legs to keep one of Fletcher’s arms pinned to his side, giving him only one free hand to try to block the punches coming towards his face.

  Fletcher squirmed, barely avoiding a direct hit to the nose, and he managed to free his other hand. This gave him the ability to fully defend against Jeric, and he used his entire body to throw the other man off.

  He scrambled to his feet, put his hands back into their original stance, and watched Jeric where he remained on his knees only a yard away. At least now he had the advantage in this situation—not that he knew how to actually capitalize on it given Jeric’s superior skill.

  Instead of getting to his feet as Fletcher expected, Jeric dove forward, grappling Fletcher’s legs and hauling him back down to the ground. He was on top of Fletcher in an instant, his crushing weight keeping Fletcher down without any chance of freeing himself.

  Jeric formed his thumb and forefinger into an imaginary gun and put it at Fletcher’s forehead. “Bang. You’re dead. Yet again.” He wasn’t even breathing hard. Clearly it hadn’t been much of a fight for him.

  “Get off me,” Fletcher muttered, finding it hard to breathe with an entire person crushing his chest.

  “Make me.”

  Addy stepped in and tugged Jeric up, giving Fletcher back his freedom. “Come on. Play nice, Jer.”

  “I’m only trying to make it realistic. If this was a real fight, his opponent wouldn’t be getting up just because he asked.” Jeric jerked Fletcher to his feet. “You really suck. Like bigtime. How on earth did you manage to kill a [Werewolf] if you suck this much?”

  “Well, I had a knife for one thing. And it was a legitimate life or death situation so that helped.” Fletcher reached up to touch the tender parts of his face and discovered his lip was bleeding.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Good thing we have all day for this. We’re going to need it.” Jeric rolled his shoulders and went over to where a collection of water bottles waited. “Make sure to hydrate. The warm up is officially over.”

  Fletcher groaned internally, but he still went over and accepted the full metal container from Jeric. He took small sips while Jeric chugged what seemed to be half the bottle in one go. Addy was elsewhere in the gym, collecting some other gear. She returned to them with pads, thin boxing gloves, and some training targets.

  She helped Fletcher put on the gloves and then motioned him back to the center of the mat. She and Jeric then took turns running through various drills with Fletcher, focused mainly on punching and dodging.

  When Jeric said this would take all day, Fletcher assumed that was a joke. Reasonably they wouldn’t spend an entire day on combat training, but he turned out to be wrong in that thought.

  Hours passed as they pushed Fletcher far beyond his usual physical capacity. Just when he thought it might finally come to an end as Addy helped him take his gloves off, Jeric positioned himself just in front, putting the pair in the starting position for another sparring match.

  Sweat dripped from Fletcher’s brow. “Can’t we be done for today? I’m exhausted.”

  “We gotta make sure you actually learned something, Fletch. Now ready up.” Jeric put his hands up.

  With a sigh, Fletcher did the same, ignoring how heavy his limbs felt after the intense workouts from earlier. Addy once again played referee, and with a drop of her hand, the match began.

  Fletcher and Jeric moved at the same time, the former choosing to take advantage of the fact that he was faster than his opponent. As Jeric lashed out with a punch, Fletcher moved to the side and threw his leg up into Jeric’s chest. The kick didn’t land as Jeric caught his foot instead and used it to fling Fletcher down.

  Some of those drills seemed to have taken hold, and Fletcher rolled as he hit the mat, keeping himself from becoming an easy target as in the previous times. Following Jeric’s lead from the last time they sparred, he lunged at his friend’s legs and pulled them both all the way to the ground into a full-blown wrestle.

  Unfortunately this was a worse position for Fletcher who lacked the strength and size for a fair fight against someone of Jeric’s build, and within a few seconds he was back on his back with his arms pinned down and his friend’s finger gun at his temple.

  “Better. Horrible still, but better.” Jeric stood up and helped him to his feet. He still showed almost no signs of exertion, signalling he was still “taking it easy” on Fletcher. “At least you learned something, even if it wasn’t much.”

  “You did great, Fletcher. Jeric always has unrealistic expectations for his trainees.” Addy handed him a water bottle, and he eagerly downed a large chunk of its contents.

  “Trainees? You guys train others a lot?” Fletcher asked once he finished his drink.

  Jeric shrugged. “I help out with new recruits from time to time, and I always ensure those under my command are properly equipped for any combat situation that comes up.”

  “Aka, he’s a bit of a micromanager,” Addy translated. “Come on. We should go clean up. Dinner’s in less than an hour.”

  Fletcher and Jeric followed her into the hallway and back through the maze of corridors until they reached Fletcher’s temporary quarters.

  “We’ll meet back here in forty-five minutes.” Addy took Jeric’s hand, and the two wandered off in another direction as Fletcher used the keypad to open the door to his room and went to take another shower.

  He kept it fast and cold, which left plenty of time for him to sit around waiting for his friends to come and get him. Part of him wanted to just go now and find his own way, but he knew that that would cause problems amongst everyone, and he didn’t want to deal with that kind of drama now.

  With nothing to do, the exhaustion of an intense workout coupled with a poor night’s sleep the night before won out, and Fletcher started to drift off to sleep. He didn’t stop himself, figuring he’d only nap for a few minutes until the others showed up.

  When he woke up, it was to Jeric’s unhappy face above his own.

  “Wakey-wakey, birthday boy. We’ve got places to be.” Jeric ruffled his hair.

  Fletcher tried to tell him to knock it off but found himself yawning instead. He slowly sat up, blinking against the sudden influx of light. Addy waited by the door wearing her usual smile. He got off the couch, rolling his eyes at Jeric’s constant complaints while he pulled his shoes back on.

  Soon, Fletcher was trudging through the hallway after the pair, wishing he was still asleep. He hadn’t realized how tired he actually was until he got the chance to sleep, and his body was displeased with having to cut his nap so short.

  It was a quick walk to whatever room they’d commandeered for celebration purposes, and Fletcher couldn’t help but smile as he entered it and admired the food ladened table which took up the majority of the space.

  Based on the available dishes, his dad was responsible for putting this together because it was a myriad of Fletcher’s favorite meals from his childhood, including classics like mashed potatoes and gravy and the overly-processed macaroni and cheese he’d grown a strong affinity for.

  “Happy birthday, Fletcher.” His dad came up to him and grabbed him in a hug.

  “Did you do all this, Dad? It looks great, but I feel bad. You didn’t need to put in all that effort.” Fletcher hugged him back, feeling the first sense of normalcy since the chaos of the gala a week prior.

  “Don’t worry. I had help.” Sebastian nodded to Nora who leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face.

  “You have horrible taste in food,” she said. “Box mac and cheese? Really?”

  “It’s a childhood staple.”

  Nora rolled her eyes and came to stand by him to continue arguing about food choices. Addy and Jeric even joined in, and Fletcher relished those moments of thinking about something as normal as food.

  All the fun in the room was zapped away the moment the door reopened and Hazel walked in. She was still in her formal military garb, unlike literally everyone else in there, and her green eyes remained as cold as ever.

  Fletcher was certain a new tension settled over the room, but it seemed to only affect him since the others went right on debating the best form of potatoes, offering only casual greetings to the general.

  Hazel walked straight up to Fletcher, and he forced a smile in welcome. Her hand went to his face, her thumb lightly touching his split lip.

  “I see Jeric took it easy on you.”

  “Yeah. It was a super ‘light’ sparring session.” Fletcher chuckled.

  She moved her hand up so she was touching just under his eye. “I miss the green. It seemed to be the only thing we shared in common.”

  He made himself remain still under her touch, as unwelcome as it was. “Except for a last name.”

  She smiled. “Yes. I suppose technically we have that too.” His mother turned around to his father. “Sebastian, why don’t we get started on this monstrosity you’re calling dinner.”

  At her signal, the group separated and took their seats, Fletcher’s parents at the ends of the table, and the others filling in the sides. He took the seat beside his dad while Nora sat next to him and their mother. Jeric and Addy were on the other side, making it seem like a large family meal, the kind Fletcher rarely experienced as a child with only his dad around.

  His father motioned for Fletcher to take the lead in getting his food, and he piled his plate high with all his favorites, which happened to be everything for this particular meal. The others followed suit, and chatting started up again.

  Warmth filled the room, unhampered by his mother’s ever-constant steely gaze, and for the first time in over a week, Fletcher found himself actually relaxing and having fun. Jeric just finished filling everyone in on Fletcher’s “abysmal lack of self-defense skills,” when Nora spoke up.

  “Jeez, Fletch. You’re going to be wicked sore tomorrow. I guess it’s better to get through that part now rather than at training,” she said before taking a large bite of mac and cheese, the dish she’d originally been making fun of.

  Fletcher paused. “Training?”

  Sebastian stood up. “Who wants cake?”

  Nobody had even finished their food yet, but Addy raised her hand and even offered to help get it, as though the thought of dessert would make Fletcher forget what they were just talking about.

  He looked at his mother, the woman who he knew was responsible for whatever it was Nora was referring to.

  “Training?” he asked again, keeping eye contact with her.

  “Basic training.” There wasn’t an ounce of softness in her tone.

  “Basic… As in for the military?” Fletcher set his fork down. “I’m no soldier.”

  “Not yet,” Nora said enthusiastically. Her earlier “slip up” seemed a little less accidental when he considered the elation on her face in watching his surprise. No doubt it was more payback.

  Was she always going to hate him for something that legitimately wasn’t his fault? It wasn’t like he could just magically know about her when his father refused to tell him about having a sister. Maybe there was something else he did as a toddler that gave her this eternal rage against him, but he couldn’t remember anything in particular.

  “You’re young and full of potential, Fletcher. I have no doubt you’ll have an illustrious career ahead of you.” His mother had a tight smile on her face.

  He laughed in shock and shook his head. “Yeah… Absolutely not. I have no interest in fighting, so thanks but no thanks..”

  “It’s already been decided.”

  “Who are you to make decisions about my life? You don’t even know me.” Fletcher slid his chair back, but before he could stand, his father grabbed his arm.

  “Calm down. Now is obviously a bad time to talk about this,” his dad said. “Let’s just finish eating, enjoy the rest of the evening, and then we can discuss this whole ‘going to training or not’ thing later, okay?”

  As he went to give his sullen agreements, his mother spoke up first.

  “Don’t give him false hope, Sebastian. And quit babying him. He should be able to handle this like an adult.” Her green gaze drilled into Sebastian, and Fletcher took that moment to see the silver lining in the fact that he didn’t have to share that part of his appearance with her anymore.

  Hazel turned her cold stare to Fletcher. “I don’t care what you think you want, Fletcher. This is for your own good, and one day you will see that.”

  Fletcher’s anger hit maximum, but having his father nearby reminded him of all those lessons on walking away instead of acting on emotion.

  “Life sure was a lot better when you were dead,” he said as he stood from his chair.

  “Fletcher,” his father hissed in disapproval.

  He ignored him and walked to the door. He had no interest in becoming a terrorist of all things, no matter what his mother said, and he certainly wasn’t going to do anything she wanted.

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