Page 31

Then, with a beat to guide me, it’s not hard to get through round after round of jabs and crosses.

I move on to combinations, mixing in my hooks and body shots. I prowl around the bag, moving right and left, closing the space to practice up close, defensive. Backing up to strike from the outside, careful. Sweat starts to drip down my back and my shirt grows damp.

I grab a towel from the pile and wipe my face and arms, thoroughly warmed up. Now I focus on using more power,letting loose, listening for a loud crack exploding on the bag.

I repeat until it sounds right in my ears, until it feels right on my knuckles, sore and starting to get battered. Eventually it’s time to stop. I have a million things to deal with tomorrow and it would make sense to get a few hours of sleep before then.

I can’t stop. The heavy beat of the music pushes me. I punch and punch and still can’t shake off the restless feeling, the pain sharper now that the skin’s cracked on my knuckles, even through the gloves and hand wraps.

“Vale. Vale!” A man is behind me, shouting. I pull my earpods out, and I don’t mask the fury on my face. The man draws back. He’s one of my father’s lieutenants.

“Your father wants to see you,” he says in a quieter voice. Maybe he was saying my name a few times before I responded. I melt away the strong emotions that have me in their clutch, using a PS technique.

“Fine,” I tell him. “Let me change first.”

“No. He wants a report right now,” he insists.

I glance down at my sweat-stained shirt and shorts. “Really? Can you give me a second?”

He shakes his head no, refusing to argue.

“Fine, lead the way,” I sigh, pulling off my gloves. I hold them in my hands, leaving the wraps on to cover my knuckles that are scraped up and bloody, and we head upstairs.

My father is sitting in a meeting room with a few of his advisors. Surprise and a hint of pride cross his face when I come in, still recovering my breath from the workout, not nearly enough sweat wiped away with thegym’s towel. I smell as bad as those green recruits in the van.

“Vale.” His eyebrows are raised so high I hope they don’t freeze and stay there. “Enjoying yourself?”

I refuse to react. “Father. It’s the middle of the night. What do you need?”

“I need my report,” my father says.

“I just got back,” I tell him.

“I also came in today. And yet here I am, fulfilling my responsibilities.”

I tell him what I know. “The report will come through in the morning. Ten on schedule, one detained at the border. I delivered them to intake about,” I check my phone, “three hours ago.”

My father and his advisors nod, taking notes.

“There’s nothing else?” he asks, an odd question in his voice.

“I’ll include as much detail as I can in the report,” I tell him, hoping to be back in the shower and in bed as soon as possible. My exhaustion is starting to hit me like a train.

“There was a girl on the train. It sounded like she knew you,” my father chooses this moment to tell me.

I can’t hide my shock. Truth is, I don’t know a lot of girls. Could it be Amity Bloome, with the freckles and the questions?

“Heading here?” I ask.

“Do you want to tell me about her?” He answers my question with his own.

“What did she look like?” I demand. It might not be the same girl.

“Well, I took a picture, of course,” my father says smoothly, tapping his phone.

My phone vibrates and I open his message, a photo from the dining car of two people in profile. One in a hoodie, with asymmetrical hair. The other one is Amity but she looks different.

She’s wearing street clothes and her long hair has been chopped off and swept up into a short ponytail. It’s…cute. She’s really…wow, she was pretty in her school uniform but this is something else entirely. I wonder if my dad knows who she is. He wasn’t involved with MAV like my mom was, he probably has no idea Amity and I knew each other as kids.