The cadet’s body crumpled under the impact of Daimona's foot. His ribs were visibly dented inwards, and each of his wounds were marked with rounded bloodstains the size of Daimona's fists.

  He raised his gloved, shaking hands with terror in his bulging eyes. “M--”

  Daimona kicked him in the throat, twisting her foot to keep him clamped to the ground by her boot. A shrill whistle blew from the far left of the simulation chamber, and the training ground of hair-thin lights vanished into the black tile ground once more.

  Corporal Simon, a stout woman with shoulder pads sewn into her uniform jacket and a black pinstripe suit underneath it, clapped her hands loudly as she stepped between Daimona and her victim.

  “Now, now Private,” she said, “That's not how we fight here. Weren't you listening when I read off the rules?”

  Daimona puffed her cheeks out in annoyance. “He never told me he wanted to quit… How am I supposed to know the match is over if he never says anything?”

  Simon shook her head, then pointed a finger at the cadet’s left arm. Twitching with three broken fingers and a horribly twisted thumb, Daimona watched as the cadet tapped against the floor in a rhythmic, repeating motion.

  Flit-flit, flit. Flit-flit, flit-flit, flit-flit. Flit, flit-flit.

  “It's old Fable code,” Simon said, kneeling down to place an open hand against the cadet's chest. “‘Enemy here, soldiers down. Man down, send help.’ They don't teach it in most recruitment centers these days.”

  Ripples of orange and yellow light emanated from her hand, healing all of the damage Daimona had just finished dealing. All of the visible bruises bloomed, yellowed and faded in an instant. His ribs were the last to be healed, slowly coming up to meet the rest of his chest. Simon offered him her other hand as he rose, and once he had been pulled off the ground, he quickly saluted the corporal and scampered off, not sparing Daimona another glance.

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  “I'm surprised Saint didn't teach you that,” Simon snorted with a wry smile. Her green eyes glittered with curiosity beneath her scruffy bangs. “Isn't he the one who's always going on about tradition and rulebooks?”

  “Yeah, he's,” Daimona fidgeted awkwardly in place. After a short sigh, she finished with, “Not really in the teaching mood these days.”

  “Is that why he has me training you with the rookies alone?”

  Daimona nodded, biting the inside of her cheek with shame. That final blow she had landed on Bash had cost her squad everything. The rival captain's defiant smile haunted Daimona's every move now. Irina had tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, and that if anything it was Will's for not clarifying his order, but Daimona knew that was only playing semantics. Will had asked one thing of her, and she ignored him. Now they were stuck on this floating base playing janitor and wailing finishing blows on uncoordinated, unworthy cadets. It was embarrassing. And moreover, it was her fault.

  “If you're gonna punish me for basically killing that guy, just do it already,” Daimona muttered bitterly. “It's better than just getting the silent treatment all month…”

  “I could never punish a soldier with grit like yours, Daimona,” Simon replied with a laugh, and Daimona perked up at the sudden warmth. Simon threw her arm around Daimona's shoulders, ushering her towards the exit. The corporal smelled of cigar smoke and spice, an oddly soothing scent that set Daimona's nerves at ease as they walked along the corridor.

  “I don't normally do this, but your strength is too great to pass up on. I'd like to invite you to a special opportunity for Base Alpha personnel.”

  “What kind of opportunity?” Daimona asked.

  “The kind that would get you back in Saint’s good graces and bolster your reputation,” Simon answered in a low tone. “Why don't we discuss it more inside?”

  Daimona hadn't even realized it, but suddenly they were standing in the doorway of Simon's office. Simon's expression was pleasant and inviting, but there was something dark in her eyes, something that made Daimona think twice about going in with her.

  “I don't know,” she said quietly. “Maybe I should get my brother first, he's usually better with decisions and contracts and all that…”

  “Was he the one who told you to knock Eleanora Lotsvatinus out in the bootcamp finals?”

  “Well no,” Daimona replied, giving Simon a quizzical look. “That was all me.”

  “Then don't you think it should be all you who decides to fix things?”

  Daimona hesitated. Then, with a slow nod, she followed Simon into her office, and quietly closed the door behind them.