Instability

※ 6 ※

"Keep your arm steady, Cummins."

I blow a dark wisp of hair out of my face and toss Daniel a narrow-eyed look, one that actually meets its target.

Under the bright spotlights of the target range, it's easy to be intimidated.  Wooden stalls separate each Clarifier from the designated targets, but it's a hodgepodge of noises and voices echoing around the room.

Another exhale, and then the knife flies through the air. It sticks with a grand plunk onto the target. Unfortunately, the blade nailed itself two rings away from the center.

"Don't forget to aim, darling," Daniel snickers. He takes a knife from my belt, which drags my hip close to him. Breezy cologne sweeps over me as his arm aims and launches the knife. Bullseye with a bang.

I roll my eyes and step away from him. Can't deny he smells good, but will deny letting him get away with being a jerk. "Cheater. You have more practice than I do."

He scoffs. "Go get your knives and try again."

I stare at him. "Aren't you going to ask nicely?"

His eyes size me up. "Now why would I do that?"

The strife ends with me fetching the knives. Once I return to his side, he laughs like a hyena. "Every knife that misses the target earns you a lap around the building."

I groan, but for the next two weeks, I have no choice but to run. Every knife that doesn't hit the board earns me a long, tiring run around the massive training building. After many days of aching arm muscles and panting lungs, I get the hang of it, and I'm throwing some bulls-eyes just like Daniel. Eventually.

The next day, Daniel sent me through a new course. Instead of shooting simple target while standing still, Daniel trains me in the new outdoor training area called the Stockyard. Due to its moving targets, rustic obstacles, and thirty-foot metal climbing levels, it's much more challenging.

By far it's my favorite training area. All the running, jumping, and climbing reminds me of being a kid again. Recesses spent playing tag or hanging onto monkey bars. When life was so much more simple and easy.

And as much as I hate to admit it, all of the training physically and mentally shapes me into a stronger person. The fearful-yet-feared person the States forced me to be dissolves into someone of strength, determination, and sarcasm. Lots of sarcasm.

Every time I say something sarcastic to Daniel, he forces me to run laps. Every time I pay his price, I assure myself it's a fair price to pay for irritating him.

After yet another round of name-calling I fire at Daniel, his inflated ego pops. "Enough already!"

"Geez," I say as I stifle a laugh with my hand. "Can't handle the heat?"

Daniel glares at me and scoops his frustrated hands through his light hair. My amusement force his legs to pace and his words to quicken. "You think that's funny, Cummins?"

"Yup." I smirk.

He cocks his head, outstretching his palm. "Then gimme your knives."

My grin fades. Daniel darts closer to me, reaching for my belt. I take three steps back and hug the handles in my holsters. "No way."

Daniel's coldness sends a shiver down my spine. "Hand it over, or you're thrown out of this base camp."

Can he do that? Will he? I hesitate. His dad's the commander, and he assigned me to train with his loving son. As much as I hate to admit it, I like training to be a Clarifier. I want to help the Renegades, since it's crystal-clear that the water here is free of Renegadea. It means the States have been lying and fear-mongering for far too long.