Alliance || 1 || ✔️ mature

17 | Eleven

She's gonna forever say 'I got this' even with tears in her eyes.

I let the dagger release from between my fingers, feeling euphoria as it spins into the same spot as the last three times.

I hear the door open and close behind me, the person taking silent steps inside, their scorching gaze on me.

I watch Archer as he walks past my peripheral towards the table set out with an array of guns.

He picks one and starts to dismantle it, the noises of the parts unclipping and sliding the only other noise in the room beside his footsteps.

I move into position without prompt, already knowing what is expected of me.

We've been doing these training session for weeks now, interchanging between sparring and shooting.

"Have you worked with guns a lot?"

I almost smile at the question, but I don't, glancing at him over my shoulder. "I prefer blades." 

"Is there a reason you don't like guns?"

"I never said I don't like them," I say as I turn back, twisting myself back to face the dummy. "I just prefer daggers."

"Daggers come in handy in small spaces, especially if you move fast enough. But guns are a necessity in this field too and you ran out of bullets last night, again."

He watches me before looking back at the dismantled gun in his hand, "You should always know how many bullets you've shot. Running out of bullets can get you killed." The snap of the pieces sliding together is loud as he approaches, "And makes you look stupid."

I lift a brow but all he does in grin.

"Six bullets."

The pieces of the gun click as he slides them together once more, his eyes never once leaving mine. He holds out the completed weapon, lifting a taunting brow at me as his other hand takes my dagger and he pushes the gun into my grip.

"Shoot."

"I know how to shoot."

He crowds forward, looking down at me as his chest brushes my shoulder. He points at the targets I've been throwing at. "Shoot."

I roll my eyes but line the gun up with the target, keeping my body in a good position.

"And count." He whispers.

I breathe out, flexing my fingers on the handle before I tilt my head to the side and squeeze the trigger.

"One." He whispers.

Hot air caresses my neck as I watch my bullet fly though the shoulder of the dummy.

"Again." Archer whispers, his head pulling back to be replaced by his hand. "Shoot."

I clear my throat, rolling my shoulders as I feel his finger slip down the strap of my top towards my spine.

I squeeze the trigger, fighting a shiver that rolls its way down my spine as his finger follows.