Marry or Kill

23

M I N A

"You ready for a round?" I ask with a smile, feeling the familiar adrenaline rush as I prepare my stance.

Despite the multiple bruises from our practising sessions, Sol is undoubtedly the best teacher I've had when it comes to fighting. Perhaps it's the skills she's acquired from The North, but I wouldn't trade her for anyone else's here.

"More than ready," Sol responds, her voice filled with anticipation as she gestures towards the centre of the room. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail today, a departure from her usual loose style, and it suits her well.

The room we're in is small and enclosed, with brick walls providing a sturdy barrier. A simple mattress occupies the centre, as both a training ground and a resting place.

A small window offers a glimpse of the outside world, though the light that filters through is scant at best, casting dim shadows across the room.

"I missed this—a lot," I admit, feeling a sense of vulnerability creeping into my words as I settle into my defensive stance.

Sol's reaction is immediate; she dips her head and drops her arms from her stance. I can sense her discomfort, though I know it's not because of my words. It's as if she believes she doesn't deserve the kindness I'm extending to her.

"I didn't think you'd want to talk to me again—I mean, after what happened," Sol confesses, her voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

I meet her gaze with furrowed eyebrows. "Well, for starters, I don't particularly care for anyone else around here except you," I retort, rolling my eyes at her self-deprecating statement. "You are my only friend."

Sol has been my anchor for a long time—the only person who could truly understand me.

"I wouldn't be if you were still in The East," Sol responds softly.

I shake my head, not willing to hear her out. "Elias manipulated everything, Sol. Just like Evander did," I say. "If not you, who else would I talk the biggest crap with?"

Sol's laughter rolls off the walls.

I can't help but smile as I recall the times we spent in the gardens of The East in our favourite pastime of poking fun at my father. "Your father was quite the character to be around," she says.

I roll my eyes at the memory. "Especially after my mother passed away," I say, the pain of loss still raw. "He's even more of a bastard."

"He'll rot in The East," Sol says, now bearing a solemn look on her face.

"I hope he damn does," I reply and roll my shoulders with a large breath. "Now, let's fight."

Without a word, Sol launches a kick towards my stomach with precision. "Your mother was one of the kindest people I've met," she says between breaths, effortlessly deflecting my counterattacks.

"If it weren't for The South, she'd be alive," I seethe, my anger bubbling to the surface, fueling my movements with a newfound intensity.

Suddenly, my strikes become swift and decisive, and before I realise it, Sol is knocked to the ground with a thud.

Sol's head directly hits the mat with a loud thud.

Panting, I watch as she looks up at me from the mattress, shock etched on her face. She lies there for a moment, her hand instinctively reaching to rub the back of her head.

Guilt washes over me as I realise the unintended force behind my movements. Immediately, I move closer to Sol, extending a hand to help her up. "Shit," I say. "Are you okay?"