She’s here.

Satara stepped back and the red band around her forehead felt like a target.

She’s real.

Saytarnia lifted a hand in her direction, pointing at her with splayed fingers. The way she had all those years ago on the roadside.

I didn’t make it up. I didn’t kill them.

Questions and accusations tumbled around in Satara’s head like bloodied clothes in a washing machine. The water turned crimson.

She came back for me. Like she said she would.

Her eyes warmed as if she were about to cry but her tears were moving in the wrong direction. And then Saytarnia’s voice replaced the quivering air in her ears, in her mind.

Satara.

Clear. As if the murderer of her family were speaking right next to her. Saturated with a myriad of emotion that felt like hands on her shoulders, nearly pushing her down onto her knees. Completely at odds with a face so still it could have been a cruel painting. How is she here? How is she doing that? Satara remembered the vanishing blood on the sword. The electric tinge left on everything in the house including the air. Can I … do it too?

You already are. On the other side of the room, her sister smiled emptily and Satara shifted into her default fighting stance before she could blink.

Carl stepped to the side, extending a hand towards the mats, and his blank treachery slithered around her ankles like a camouflaged snake. She almost stumbled over it but didn’t have time to redirect the roar building in the void of her stomach as she backed away from Saytarnia’s approach. Each of her sister’s footsteps matched the pulse of her heart as it seemed to echo around the room, bouncing off the walls, every beat louder than the last.

Who are you? demanded Satara. The knowledge that another person was somehow reading her thoughts rattled around in her skull and refused to settle. Who the hell are you?

You know who I am. The wide half sleeves of Saytarnia’s full length coat reached down to encompass the black fabric clinging to the rest of her arms, concealing half of her palms too. Satara remembered looking at similar accessories in a charity shop years ago and despised herself for it.

You’re the one who killed my parents. A swift glance sideways revealed Jason’s eyes, slightly wider than usual, his dark brows raised. For a moment, the target wrapped around her head transferred to his and she tore her attention from him at once.

I am. The smirk in Saytarnia’s telepathic voice did not reach her features but as she stepped onto the mat a series of memories flashed through the fifteen year old’s head like a fast forwarded video.

The absence of balloons decorating the Lang’s house or a home made cake with her name sloppily written on it several days ago.

The first time Jason placed a hand on her shoulder and its weight and warmth hadn’t overwhelmed her.

The taste of baked fish and peas in the hospital, extra salty courtesy of her tears.

The terrified screams of one of the other foster kids as she pinned him down, her hands around his throat.

Looking out of the window at school at an aeroplane crossing the sky and breathing until she managed to rid herself of the thought of her family being on it without her.

Janie twisted on the hallway floor. The chill of the dining room like frozen claws scraping across her skin.

Saytarnia’s low voice breaking the eternal silence she had forced her mum and dad into, shattering her eardrums, leaking into her thoughts like poisoned ink.

I won’t let you kill me. Satara snarled the words as loud as she could without moving her lips. Without making a sound that the other people in the hall could hear. Her raised hands were unsteady and the centre of her chest burned. But she dropped half an inch lower and held the eyes of the woman opposite her.

I'm not here to kill you. Saytarnia stopped as she reached the centre of the mat but did not change her stance. Like a white canvas with a cannon behind it, the outline of which was vaguely visible. Satara's throat suddenly felt pumped with air yet completely deoxygenated at the same time.

“You can begin,” said Carl and she jumped. His voice was extra loud on the other side of her ear drums.

Saytarnia nodded at him, a slow, decisive movement of her head, playing the part of an examiner. All so she could pretend she wasn't about to kill Satara, or worse, in front of the group she had trained with for the past few years. In front of Jason. The tornado-like heat at her core flared outwards and she needed to move before it consumed her from the inside. Saytarnia folded one hand into fist, pressing it into the palm of her other. Her fingers formed a loose cage over it as she bowed at the waist, deeply, clearly confident enough to leave her head unguarded.

I'm not going to bow to a murderer like you. Satara's spine stiffened even before her sister spoke again.

Do you bow only to opponents you respect? Saytarnia straightened up.

You're not my opponent. Her hands and feet shook. Satara stepped forward. You're just a killer who cut down my family.

She blinked and Saytarnia appeared right in front of her. She swung a startled fist and winced as it was caught in the woman's iron-like grip. She lashed out with her other and Saytarnia dodged her rookie mistake. She used Satara's arm, twisting it at the shoulder in an Aikido-like move to throw her to the floor. By the time Satara rolled back onto her feet, her sister was already standing as though she hadn't moved an inch. The only evidence was that they were both at the centre of the sparring mats now.

Satara brought her hands back up and stepped in again before the unexpected anxiety could take root in her movements, fuelled by the sensation of her muscles igniting. Don't think. She told herself, cooling her own agitation with a steady flow of encouragement. Don't think about it. You just have to win. Her stance was wider this time and she sank low, thrusting her fist towards Saytarnia's stomach. You can touch her. She's real. Which means you can hurt her too. This time you can fight back –

Saytarnia's body rotated smoothly out of range. Her palm pressed against the back of Satara's head, shoving her onto all fours like a feline playing with a fluttering bird.

“You're strong,” she said. It took Satara a moment to realise she had said the words aloud. Her approval almost sounded genuine. Stronger than before.

She's playing with me. Satara ground her fists against the floor and pushed herself back up to face her again. She resisted the urge to look at the audience of her humiliation but nobody was laughing. At least half of them are probably enjoying this. Why isn't anyone saying anything? Because it's a test? Since when did they care about respecting professionalism or authority besides Carl? Maybe they can tell she's not a normal examiner.

She tried to breathe the frustrated stain away from her cheeks and realised Saytarnia was allowing her breathers in between each attack. She's going easy on me and I still can't do anything to her. Satara opened her eyes and replaced her sister's face with Brian's. His annoyingly condescending smile. His unkempt hair. The disproportionate confidence in his walk. She's a human just like him. But stronger. She channelled the fire-like sensation into her limbs and away from her mind. The smoke cleared, revealing the facts. I don't have to hold back with her.

If I try to tell everyone who she is, who knows what she'll do. Though she kept her features impassive, Saytarnia tilted her head in acknowledgement of Satara's thoughts. It doesn't make sense that she knows what I'm thinking. Or that she can use telepathy. Or that she's an examiner for a random MMA class. The clock attached to a wall at the back of her mind ticked a little louder. But that doesn't matter right now. I just need to beat her so she can't hurt anyone else here. Even if some of them deserve it. I need to tell Carl she's a fake but I can't do that if I don't stop her –

I am not a lie, little sister. The deep blue of Saytarnia's eyes intensified. I am your only truth.

My only –? Satara coughed wetly as a fist slammed into her stomach and opened cracks in her defence.

Do not fight me. The same hand curled around her and prevented her from falling into a disgracefully jumbled heap. Have you forgotten what I told you?

She had barely forgotten anything about that night. It replayed like a looped video in her mind, both when she was unoccupied and when she was asleep. She couldn't eat ham sandwiches and balloons sometimes made her nauseous. Of course she remembered the murderer's words.

“Do not run from the truth, sister … and do not fight it … Lies will only destroy you...”

She was caught in a close combat with the odds against her and potential collateral damage close by. Another experience flashed through Satara's pain. A memory. No, a dream.

… As Frank swung at him again, he cracked the empty teacup across the vertex of the other man's scalp and dropped the intact handle before using the same hand to land a swift uppercut to his chin …

Satara punched upwards. Her fist barely grazed Saytarnia's jaw but it forced her to let go. She spun on one foot and her other rushed past her sister's waist in a powerful thrust that would have knocked her back had it connected. Saytarnia stepped out of range and Satara focused on her breathing as though she were meditating. Mentally, she backed off in the same way until she could see her opponent as a whole.

I told you. She balanced on the balls of her feet, regaining control of her core. I'm not going to let you destroy me.

And she stepped in for another attack even as she prepared to miss. Even as she expected the rebound to hit ten times harder.

<><><><><>

Something weird's going on. The thought crossed Jason's mind before he looked away from the cool yet severe examiner and caught sight of the armour-like stillness that settled over his best friend's body. Before she backed away stiffly from the woman as if a pack of wolves had cornered her and threw a swift glance in his direction as though she couldn't bear to meet his eyes. Again. The last few days have been weird but this is – something else. Is she freaked out because they look so similar?

But that wouldn't have disturbed Satara enough to prevent her from ignoring their ritual and returning the bow the examiner extended to her. She's never rude. Not like that and especially not to older people. He winced and the breath caught in his chest as the examiner threw Satara to the ground. Easily. Expertly. Indifferently. Satara got back up quickly but the thud of her body hitting the mats seemed to have reached deeper than her skin, rattling her spine and the amazing self confidence he had always admired.

Despite this, she attacked again straight away only to get knocked to the ground like a tiger cub being chided by its parent. She didn't get up as fast this time and the tension in her body activated the protective instinct in his. He looked at Carl who had circled the mat to stand at the end of the front row. His clipboard hung pointlessly at his side, eyes fixed on the match but utterly unfocused on what was happening during it as if the results had nothing to do with him.

His star student's getting messed with and he's not gonna stop it? Is this part of the test? Satara choked alarmingly loud in the silent hall and Jason almost jumped to his feet as he identified the source of the noise. No way. She's not allowed to fight like that, even if she is testing us.

But no one else was reacting, only watching with the same half dopey look on their faces. Even Nigel didn't look pleased knowing that the one who had humiliated him was getting a taste of the same medicine. If he hadn't known better, Jason would have believed he was staring a blank wall instead of a MMA match.

“Hey –” His protest wavered as Satara responded with an uppercut.

Her stance shifted from solid to light in the span of several seconds as she followed up the blow with a spinning kick. If it had landed, Jason was sure that even the examiner would have been thrown back. Satara's form was stronger than it had been a moment ago but it was too tight. She needs to relax. Is it because it's an exam? Her face was as taut as it had been when she launched her final attack against Brian and gave him a heart attack. Only this time her expression was stonier, her dark eyes narrowed and brighter than he had ever seen them.

What the heck's going on? Do they know each other? The similarity between them had increased over the last few minutes. Satara's style seemed to change. Her explosive attacks gave way to calculated and vicious ones. She stopped holding back her punches and her kicks, sparse as they were, were directed at questionable weak points. It's like she's not fighting to pass the test but to kill someone –

A ripple passed through the onlookers as Satara ducked beneath a lazy punch and slammed her fist straight into the examiner's stomach. It was her first solid blow since the match had begun, fast enough to break past the other's defences and reach her before she could evade it again. The faint triumph on Satara's face melted instantly as the dark haired woman looked down at her arm as though it were attached to a huge fly. She then grabbed Satara's wrist and yanked it up over her head before returning the punch. It landed with a low crack that revealed the difference between them.

Satara cried out, a devastatingly guttural sound he didn't want to hear and never wanted to hear again, and Jason leapt to his feet.

“Oi!” His stomach lurched but Carl grabbed his elbow. “What the hell –?”

“Stay where you are,” murmured their instructor as though they were watching a boring movie in history class.

“Tara's hurt!” he exclaimed, pointing in her direction, green eyes alight. “You heard that, right? That noise was –”

“– Everything is under control.” Carl didn't release his arm, his face and voice equally monotone. “Sit down.”

“No, it's not –!” Satara cried out again, distracting him. “Screw you, I'm gonna –”

He yanked his elbow free and tried to step forward, caught off guard by a stinging sensation. His feet wouldn't move. He looked down, muffling a yell with the back of his hand. His bare feet were encased in silently writhing lengths of what looked like blue electric.

“What the actual f–?” He lifted one foot carefully and yelped as a burning sensation followed the movement, forcing him to lower it again.

No. His throat tightened, gaze growing heavier as it returned to the fake match.

As he was left with no choice but to watch his best friend fight for her life.

<><><><><>

Satara stumbled back, holding her left side. Every breath filled her lungs with metal shards. Every movement slid blades up and down one side of her chest. She was half swollen, unbalanced, and the chi that should have strengthened her now only highlighted the damage.

She wasn't lying. Sweat layered her skin all over. She's not trying to kill me. She's torturing me instead.

The image of Saytarnia blurred and came back doubled. She shook her head until her vision rectified itself, her headband a darker red as it slipped down her brow. One Saytarnia was more than she could handle. She was acutely aware that the edge of the mat was a step away. If it had been a real test, one wrong move would have ended it all.

She had never wanted to end it all so much.

Saytarnia flashed in and out of sight and a hand thudded against her shoulder. She tumbled off the mats and landed on her back. The pale green walls encircling the ceiling were vibrant even as black and white spots drifted past them. The boys were making noise at last. Most were cheering and laughing at her total defeat. Others were trying to encourage her to keep going, speaking as if through an ocean. She rolled onto all fours, leaning back on her ankles. You have no idea what's going on here, do you? she asked them silently, frowning at their incompatibly still appearances. None of you except -

She found Jason, barely visible beyond Saytarnia's slowly approaching form, and finally allowed herself to look at him. The panic on his face was clear. As was the fact that she had broken or at least fractured a rib or two. She knew, though she had never damaged any of her bones before.

“It's over!” said Jason, straining towards her despite Carl's grip on his arm. “The match's over so –”

Losing focus in a fight can cost you everything, Satara. Saytarnia stood over her, the silver ring with a black symbol clearly visible on her left hand. Is that a wedding ring? The thought almost made her laugh until she cried. You've done so much to me. Caused me so much pain. Why? I barely even know you and you have the nerve to look for your own happiness?

Satara drew in a deep breath … and slammed her fist on the top of her sister's foot with all the strength she could summon.

Her ribs screamed a warning at her and she gasped even before the same foot lifted to knock her into the closest window. The air cooled her path towards it but did nothing for the sharp pain of her back hitting the glass. Before her head could follow suit, a fist landed between her shoulder blades and she crumpled like a fly beneath a swatter.

It's all wrong. Her eyes watered for the first time in years and the rich scent of the wooden floor was almost comforting, despite the dust and debris filling the spaces in between each plank. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be stronger when she came back but –

Saytarnia's footsteps shook the floorboards beneath her cheek but she couldn't hear them. A hand hooked into the back of her kimono jacket and pulled her up onto her knees. Satara whimpered and wrapped her arms around herself, both to keep her kimono closed and to give her ribs a false sense of security as the pain nearly blacked out her vision. Saytarnia's other hand closed around her throat as she released the fabric. Satara writhed, her legs weak beneath her. She tried to twist free without using her hands but Saytarnia shoved her up against the glass.

“She's hurting her! Let go, you –” Jason was half screaming and half swearing but she couldn't see him beyond the threat of her sister's eyes.

The blue of her irises seemed to hum like a live electric fence and Satara was suddenly ready to throw herself against its wires. No … It's not sudden. I've been ready for it for a long time. She no longer cared whether Saytarnia could hear all of her thoughts or just those directed at her. I wanted it to be different. She lifted her head and her arms fell away from her chest, knuckles tapping the glass behind her. Finish it properly this time. If you're really my sister, it's the least you could do.

Saytarnia stared at her in silence for a moment then stepped closer. Her voice trickled like lukewarm water all the way through Satara's ear canal until it bathed her mind.

“It will be different this time, I promise you,” she murmured.

Satara flinched as her sister's hand crept beneath the fabric of her kimono, rough but unswerving as it pressed against the scar it had left there years ago. Her fingers curled into weak fists despite her resigned thoughts.

“Wait –” she choked beneath the pressure against her throat, her speech significantly more unsteady than her thoughts.

“It will hurt you,” said Saytarnia and the words punctured her courage like shuriken. She raised a hand but the murderer captured it effortlessly with her own. “But a life of lies will do much worse.”

Why do you sound like you know how that feels? Tension coiled on the floor of her stomach, painfully sharp now instead of comfortingly warm. Satara tried to shake her head. Tried to find a grip on the glass behind her and kick out with her legs. Her left side ached as though all the bruises she had accumulated over time had converged in one space over her ribs.

“Why?” She moaned as her headband slipped from her brow. Her toes barely scraped the floor and she clutched at her side because she didn't know what else to do. Her breaths shuddered between each sentence and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling off her chin. “Why are you doing this to me? Now. Back then. Why?”

“I told you, if you want to know the truth, then live.” Saytarnia's palm heated up as if she intended to melt the scar tissue. Her temple pressed mercilessly against Satara's like a heated iron. “You have to live, Satara. Even if your zai feels like poison.”

“I don't – want to –” She sobbed, grabbing onto the front of her sister's coat.

Something ripped, her neck burned, and Satara screamed for the first time in her life -

- “Tarya!” she wailed, as someone tied her up and held a funny smelling cloth over her mouth. A sack smothered the rest of her cries -

- No, it wasn't the first time.

She couldn't tell if her scar had been torn open only or if the air around them had split too. Blood, hot and foreign, spilled down her back and chest. Her left side, no, her entire body was alight. It crackled from the inside out as if electric were running through her blood. A chill tugged at the base of her neck and rushed through the patch of skin where Saytarnia's head connected with the side of hers. Images flashed through her mind. Cherry blossoms and blue skies. Empty rooms and tubs of medication. White tiles and soggy cereal. She was still screaming even when the lights turned off and a fire alarm shattered the silence, each beep like the blow of a giant hammer.

And then she stepped back into a warm darkness that surrounded her like familiar arms. A low voice filled her thoughts.

Remember everything.

<><><><><>

“Tara!” Jason's throat blazed around her name as he tried to pull free from both Carl's grip and the odd substance encasing his feet.

His best friend fell silent, her cries cut short and replaced by the insistent ringing of the fire alarm overhead. Her head dropped forward and the psychotic examiner released her. Allowed her to crumple lifelessly to the floor. A watery red smear trailed her descent down the glass and struck him like a knee beneath his ribs. He ripped his elbow free from their instructor and landed on his knees. His ankles stretched and burned as if the unyielding substance could slice through the top of his feet and sever the ligaments.

“Tara –” he groaned and clawed at the wooden planks.

The examiner looked down at her hand for a minute before she lifted her head. Her face stayed impassive even as she turned it sharply towards the doorway and flung out her other hand in the opposite direction. One of the windows shattered and another alarm joined the cacophony. A belated warning of the trespasser in their midst. As if she had carried out her job perfectly, peacefully, the examiner walked over to her self made exit. For a second, the daylight illuminated her detached departure and highlighted every dangerously precise movement. Each feature that reminded him of an older Satara so much that he wanted to throw up.

Then she was gone and chaos broke out in the hall.

Carl and the rest of the group escaped whatever trance they had been in for the last ten minutes. Their instructor called for order and presumably started to look for his phone, his hands clumsy and eyes unfocused. The other guys looked at each other with semi-terrified expressions they were too shaken to hide, as if they had all had the same dream but no one wanted to be the first to admit it. They yell as the sprinklers turned on, prompted by the fire alarm, and held their arms above their heads. Clearly they couldn't work out what had happened and how they were supposed to act.

None of them noticed Jason as he scrambled back up on sore feet and ran across the mats until he reached Satara's distressingly still body, propped her up by the soiled glass yet slumped forward like a broken doll.

Hell no. Hell no. Hell no! He was panting by the time he dropped to his knees in front of her, choking on his own heart. Not Tara. Not her. Please God –

He blinked and a dark figure moved in his peripheral vision. She came back? That bi – He swore and twisted to swing a fist at the intruder despite his compromised balance.

“I'll kill you, you fu –” he snarled, silenced by the hand that caught his punch easily.

By the barely veiled distress on the other guy's face, half visible beneath the large celebrity-like sunglasses, before it gave way to a steely expression.

“Can I help your friend first?” he asked, crouching down beside them.

“Why the heck would you –?”

“Because she's my family.” His fingers twitched around Jason's, his tone polite but urgent.

Danger settled in the shadows of his expression, in the uncanny familiarity of his graceful movements, but his vibe was completely different from the examiner who had left Satara for dead.

“Why would I –?”

“Because we're running out of time to save her.” The stranger released Jason's fist and touched the floor beside Satara's knee. “Please let me save her.”

I don't know who the hell you are – Water from the sprinklers over head diluted the blood that stained Satara's neck and cast constellations of stars across the night sky of the foreign guy's hair. – so why the hell do I trust you already?

“Okay, but –”

“Jason? What's going on –?” Carl's voice cut off his potential warning but was subsequently muffled as the stranger moved his other hand across the floorboards in a semi circle.

A wave of fire-like heat briefly warmed his back but by the time Jason turned the water between them and the rest of the group, Carl included, had become a curtain of steam. The stranger knelt down and gathered Satara up in both arms, cradling her to his chest as though she were a lost toy.

“Oi …” Jason stood up at exactly the same time and took hold of Satara's trailing kimono sleeve.

“Come with me.” It was impossible to tell if the other guy had looked at him before he headed for the same broken window.

What if they're working together? Jason kept his grip on her sleeve, glancing back only once. Some of the other guys, barely visible through the steam, stared and pointed at him. Carl waved several times for his attention and called out, clearly unimpressed. Jason coughed and quickened his pace, following the stranger out of the training hall. Yeah … I'll take my chances with that instead.

There was no way he could explain what had happened to Carl when he still had no clue what was going on himself.

<><><><><>

The stranger somehow managed to maintain both stealth and speed as he carried Satara away from the building.

As someone who had grown familiar with her solid weight, Jason knew it couldn't have been a simple task. But her alleged family member held her and moved with ease, his footsteps light and soundless. His head turned occasionally from one side to the other as they travelled in the shade of the buildings. He seemed to be steering clear of the main road and taking a route installed with very few obvious CCTV cameras.

Isn't he gonna take her to the hospital? Anxiety fizzled in Jason's stomach like too much Pepsi. His fingers tightened in her wide sleeve as he followed the taller guy. With all that blood, she's gonna need a doctor, isn't she? We have to take her to A&E, don't we? Where's he going?

“The car park's that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction as they paused in the shadow of another hall.

This side of the recreational centre was significantly more secluded than the rest. The main attraction, a forty foot long pool, had closed for maintenance a few months ago and had not re-opened since. Occasionally, people hung around to smoke but the caretaker was good at his job and smoking was not permitted on the grounds due to customers being concerned about their health. Not long after he and Satara had joined the MMA class, a petition had been signed enthusiastically and the place became a smoke free site.

“We're not going to the car park.” The stranger sounded a little more terse. He set Satara down against a wall partially concealed by a row of thin trees.

“But – the ambulance –”

“We're not waiting for an ambulance.” He turned to Jason as he straightened up. The intensity of his attention, though diluted by a barrier of tinted glass, still made the sixteen year old take half a step back.

“What?” he croaked. “What're you looking at?”

“Does Satara trust you?” asked the long haired man quietly, as if the question were directed at himself.

“More than she trusts a random dude who looks like he jumped straight outta the Matrix.” Jason growled, sliding sideways to stand closer to his best friend.

“Can I trust you too?”

“With what?” Can he fight? He looks built under that jacket but that doesn't mean anything. Just because he's Asian it doesn't mean he knows how to move.

The stranger didn't answer verbally and reached into his pocket to pull out a small black bag. He stared at Jason – presumably – for a second longer before dropping into a crouch. He dipped his finger into the bag and traced a circle around himself using its dark contents. Once. Twice. Three times, each circle large enough to enclose the previous one. His smudged finger moved outwards this time as he drew three lines at equal distances to each other, connecting all three rings.

Great. He's crazy. Jason shoved a hand through his hair and looked for his phone. He quickly remembered leaving it in his locker before the exam when Satara locked away hers. Phones weren't allowed in the training hall unless someone expected an important call. The long haired guy held up a hand and cut off his incredulous question before Jason had the chance to speak. He gently moved Satara until she was lying at the centre of the three rings and traced some kind of symbol on her forehead. A star with Chinese-looking characters written inside it. He beckoned to Jason before the youth could protest.

“Can you stand there please?” He pointed to the space on her other side, directly opposite him but within the largest circle.

Jason eyed the symbol and the markings on the ground. He rolled his head to either side uncertainly before stepping forward, flinching as the other's freshly blackened fingertip approached his forehead.

“Don't worry. It washes off easily,” he said in a solemn voice that would've made Jason laugh at any other time.

That's really not the issue here, mate. He held himself still, eyelids fighting to stay parted as a symbol was traced on his forehead too. “Um, what are you doing?”

“It's hard to explain. I'll show you.” The stranger pressed his right fist into his left palm, curling his thumb, index, and little fingers around it. The remaining two remained relatively upright like antennae. “Please take a deep breath.”

Jason glanced down at Satara and impatience heated his breath as it rushed out from between his teeth. He breathed in and the lines on the ground burst into light blue flames.

The fire along the outermost ring rose up to swallow all three of them and he gasp –