“You need to stop being so immensely gullible,” Jason said with an ugly laugh.
Allyra turned over and looked up at him. Obviously amused, Jason had a huge grin on his face as he watched her, which only served to irritate her further.
“We’re talking now?” she snapped, not bothering to hide the ire in her voice.
He shrugged carelessly. “The silence was getting a little tedious.”
“Well, you’re getting a little tedious. Too bad a little conversation won’t get rid of you.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Finally, a little fire from the Atmospheric—I like it.”
“I couldn’t care less what you like,” Allyra said, getting to her feet and reaching over to rub her shoulder. She grimaced—he’d hit her hard and it hurt.
“You’re actually not too bad,” Jason said conversationally.
“Was that a compliment? Because, if so, you really need to work on it.”
The grin dropped from Jason’s face, and he changed gears abruptly from amused to serious. It was like one mask slipping off and another taking its place. The ease and practice with which it happened made Allyra feel unbalanced and uncomfortable. She had to wonder: which mask was the real one?
“I’m serious,” Jason said, a little annoyed.
Allyra let out a huff of laughter. “So am I.”
Jason shook his head. “Why do you always have to be so obstinately pigheaded? I’m trying to help here.”
For a moment, Allyra could do nothing but stare at him in silence, her eyes widened incredulously. Then she started laughing—sarcastically. She pointed a finger at herself. “Me? Obstinate? Maybe take a look in the mirror before blurting out nonsense. How does the saying go? People in glass houses… Besides, I haven’t heard a single helpful thing come out your mouth yet.”
He glared at her before throwing his baton across the room with uncharacteristic frustration.
Allyra threw her arms up in exasperation. “And—there’s my proof. You’re just a stubborn child throwing your toys out of the cot.”
He rounded on her, and she saw just how furious he was. It was quite an accomplishment for her—Jason usually had his emotions under tight and rigid control. “You are the most infuriating, obstinate—”
“Said that already,” she interrupted cheerfully.
“Obstinate, mulish person I’ve ever had the bad luck to come across. I don’t want you as a partner any more than you want me, but by some sadistic twist of fate, we’re stuck with each other. I’m just trying to make the best of it.”
His words served only to help her cross the line from annoyed to angry. Now every bit as furious as he was, she shouted, “If you want to help, then help! Stop just talking about it!”
“Fine!” he bit out, continuing to glare at her, his entire body taut with anger, like a cobra coiled and ready to strike. She met his eyes unflinchingly, refusing to give even an inch.
Abruptly, the tension drained from him. “Fine,” he said again, softly this time. He backed away from her, never breaking eye contact until he was at the other end of the room. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his legs casually, now the very picture of cool nonchalance.
“You aren’t too bad,” he said. “You’re quick, your strikes are mostly accurate, and your defense is pretty solid.”
He paused, and his eyes narrowed as he studied her. She remained stoically silent. Why interrupt this wildly uncharacteristic delivery of compliments?
“You’ve definitely improved,” he continued, his words slow and considered. “maybe due to your late-night excursions?”
Allyra tried not to flinch—he’d known all along. So much for her efforts at sneaking around. Obviously, he’d mastered the art of faking sleep.
“Maybe,” she replied dismissively, refusing to give any more away.
“I don’t care who you spend your nights with. In fact, if it means you getting better at combat, then I’m all for it.”
“Good to know,” she replied lightly. “Even if I didn’t ask.”
“Regardless of how you might be achieving it, you are getting better. But there’s two things you are shockingly bad at.”
Allyra raised her eyebrows but didn’t interrupt.
“One,” Jason said, holding up a finger. “You are ridiculously naïve. You think everyone is playing by some set of honorable rules. And when they don’t, you stand there—all shocked and outraged, gaping like a fish, just waiting for your opponent to squash you.”
“Not everyone who wins needs to fight dirty,” she retorted.
“Oh, grow up, Allyra,” Jason snapped. “What do you think this is? Fencing at a gentlemen’s club, sipping tea and nibbling cucumber sandwiches? Weren’t you listening? There are no rules here, no judge, no jury, and no appeals. The Five Finals isn’t some honorable, civilized test of skill. It’s an underground fight club, a brawl to the death. And the sooner you realize it, the less likely we are to die.”
The idealist in her wanted to argue, but the realist realized the truth in his words. The conflict was short and decisive—the realist won. She nodded. “Okay,” she said, short and simple, and moved on swiftly. “You said there were two things, what’s the second?”
“You don’t know how to take a hit.”
“Care to elaborate?” she asked, confused.
“Winning a fight isn’t just about striking the final blow. You could be the fastest and the most accurate, you could even have the best defense, but none of it will matter if you don’t know how to take a hit. And you’ll definitely never win The Five Finals.
“There are no weak Competitors here, we are the strongest of the Gifted. That means there’ll never be a fight where you won’t get hit. Someone will get through your defenses—that’s a sure thing. So, when it happens,
