"Alright, Sofie, hit it," Jordan says.

"Right now?" I ask, wrinkling my nose in disgust. "How?"

"What do you mean how? I just told you!"

"I mean, like... do I just push my arm forward?"

"No, no, it's more of a swing. Look," he balls his hands up into fists, lifts them up to the front of his face, and swings his right hand forward. "Now you go."

"Alright," I nod, trying to copy his actions. When it feels right, I swing my arm forward and into the punching bag. "How was that?"

"That was more of a push," he says. "It's fine for a formal fight, but if you want to knock them out, it's best to hit them from the side."

"Okay, alright," I take my position again. I vaguely remember all of this from elementary school but it's been too long. I didn't keep up with my training while I was away. If I had known I would be getting married to the most dangerous man alive, I might've kept it up.

I move my arm forward slowly, practising the path I want to make. When I'm done, I take the hit for real, throwing my fist into the side of the bag.

"Yes!" Jordan cheers. "That's what I'm talking about!"

"Yeah? That was good?" I grin.

"Perfect!"

"Yes!"

"Turns out you do remember some of your training," he laughs. "Now try it with your left hand."

"Left?" I scowl. "My left side is super weak."

"It's just for technique," he shrugs. "You'll get stronger the more you train."

"Ugh. I have to train more?" I complain. That's the last thing I want to do. I thought I left this behind when I moved away.

"It's not that bad, Sof, just give it a go."

I reluctantly ball my fists again, lifting them up in front of my face. I hold my right hand closer, the opposite of what I usually do. I take a second to breathe and relax my shoulders, and then, I throw my fist into the punching bag.

"Motherfucker!" I yell, feeling a sharp pain shoot through my fingers. I pull them back into me, squeezing them together to somehow make the pain stop.

"holy shit!" Jordan hurries over to me, reaching for my injured hand, but I pull them away. "Let me see."

"It fucking hurts," I grumble.

"Let me see."

"It's fine, it's fine," I insist, holding my hand out to him. "It's just the impact."

"Is it the knuckle here?" he pushes right on the spot where to hurts. I wince, pulling my hand out of his. "Alright, you're fine, Sofie. You just bruised it."

"It hurts like a bitch."

"Do you want to go see the nurse?"

"No, it's fine," I shake my hand. "I'll be okay. I just need the pain to pass."

"Let's sit down and have a break."

"No, we should keep going. The faster we do this, the sooner it's over."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, can we just do something low impact?" I ask. I've never been good at physical combat.

"Uhm," Jordan scans the room. "When's the last time you shot a gun?"

"Last week," I say. It's the one thing I actually kept up with, and the only thing I'm good at.

"Great. Let's go over there."

The training area has been renovated since I was last here. It's got an entire second storey now. There's a gym up there, but I haven't seen it yet. we've been on the first floor all morning, moving from one activity to the next. A few people have come and gone while we've been here, but Sainte specifically told Jordan to run me through every exercise in the building.

We walk through the door in the back of the room, heading into the shooting range. It's dark in here, with just a row full of booths to the right, and a wall covered in weapons on the other — from the floor, over the doorway, up to the ceiling. There are all kinds of different guns here, rifles, shotguns, machine guns, snipers, and everything in between.

We're not the only ones here, though. There's a group of guys at the back booth, and David is one of them. He smirks over at me.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," he calls. "Shouldn't you be in the kitchen with the rest of your kind?"

"My kind?" I snicker.

"Don't talk to him, Sofie," Jordan warns.

"This room is for training," David continues. "We all know you're not cut out for combat."

I open my mouth to protest, but Jordan interferes, handing me a small handgun from off the wall.

"Here," he says, guiding me towards the nearest booth. "Just ignore them."

"He's such a dick," I complain.

"It's fine. You know how to shoot, so prove him wrong."

I undo the safety on the gun and aim it at the target on the back wall. Usually, you'd need protective earmuffs and goggles to do this, but not here. We're all too familiar with the sound.

I don't need much time to prepare. I just pull the trigger, hitting the target just outside the centre. I try it again. Another close one.

"See? You're good at this," Jordan says.

"But not good enough," David comments, heading towards us. "You've been shooting for 10 years now and you still can't hit the centre?"

"Mind your own business," I tell him.

"That's what you get for treating everything like a damn fashion show," he continues. "You're never going to be any good if you're more concerned with your outfit than your shot."

"What the fuck is your problem?" I scold. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Nah, tearing you down has always been my favourite hobby. It's just too easy, you know?"

"Piss off, bro. Come on," Jordan tries.

"I've got to admit, it's good to see you've lost some weight, though. These dresses actually look good on you now."

He reaches his hand out to me, but before he gets a chance to touch me, Jordan jumps into action, twisting his arm around to his back.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jordan sneers.

"Come on, bro, I'm just fucking around," he laughs. "Why are you and Sainte the only ones who get to have her? She should be for all of us."

"Shut the fuck up," Jordan let's go of his arm, shoving him towards the door. "Get out of here before I bring Sainte down."

"Relax," he raises his hands in surrender, walking backwards away from us. "She's just a fucking bitch, man. What good is she to us?"

Before I can stop myself, I raise the gun into the air, aiming it directly at him. I pull the trigger straight away, letting the bullet shoot into him.