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THE GAME of capture the flag remained a popular topic of conversation amongst the initiates. Even days later, even after another day of matches that Davina crushed Christina in, she could not escape the reminder that she had lost. Even after Peter had brought a smile to her face and they got on the train covered in paint, talking the entire ride home with Apollo practically half-asleep on the floor beside Davina's knee, she could not escape the shadow when the lights went out.
When the dorms went quiet and Davina was left staring at the bottom of Apollo's bunk, her mind went back to the game, and shame pooled in her stomach. The familiar sensation of failure, that she had tasted when Edward had beaten her, that she felt whenever her twin was the object of praise. It was a familiar feeling she had long grown to hate. Edward had called her a sore loser once, which had ended with him being the sore one in one of their training sessions, but the title always taunted Davina.
This time, however, she didn't feel so alone in the misery, as Eric seemed to mirror her feelings, and even Molly had been withdrawn for a few days. Not the most admirable people for Davina to relate to, but she digressed. At least she wasn't the only one taking the loss to heart for once.
But things were starting to sink back into normalcy and routine, and the ache of the wound was starting to fade, at least until one morning when Davina entered the training room and was met with knives. Beside her, Apollo scanned the table of blades strewn across it, some different shapes and sizes, all glinting in the fluorescents above them.
Davina looked wearily at the other end of the room at the large target set up. "Well, that's new," she remarked.
"You ever study knife throwing?" Apollo said, a hint of mocking in his voice.
Davina couldn't give him any sort of answer that would boost her confidence, so chose to stay quiet as they gathered with the others in the middle of the room. Since starting her routine of existing with Apollo, especially at breakfast, they were always just on time. Apollo was not a morning person, perhaps even less than Davina, so by the time he was out of bed and they were having breakfast, time was already short.
Eric was standing in the centre of the room, hands tightly behind his back. Ever since losing the game of capture the flag, he had stalked around the compound looking ready to attack at any moment. Davina suspected he didn't share her sentiment and would not share the frustration with anyone– he probably blamed parts of his team for the loss, and did not count herself as safe from his wrath.
"At this point, we are two weeks into initiation," Eric told them. "There are another two weeks left of stage one. And while drills, shooting and fighting are important, this is another skill you will be graded on for your final rank. It is very different from aiming a gun."
Davina swallowed thickly at the acknowledgement that it had been two weeks since she had left the mirror behind and taken a leap into the unknown.
"Everyone pick up three knives," Eric continued. "And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them." The other instructor was off to the side, looking as stoic and disinterested as usual. No one moved immediately, and Davina didn't want to be the first. "Now!" Eric snapped.
