Urgent

Chapter 13

I groan as I enter the training room. After last night, you would think they would let us sleep in - just for ten minutes - but noo... Straight to training we go, despite not having nearly enough sleep. 

At least it won't hurt. We're not doing combat today - instead we're throwing knives at targets. Which, while it may be difficult, is slightly better than being repeatedly bashed into the ground, which is always fun. Excuse my French. 

Eric stands in the middle of the room, his posture so rigid that it seems like someone replaced his spine with a metal rod. The sight of him makes me feel like all the air in the room has drastically gotten heavier - bearing down on me. 

At least when he had been slouched against a wall, I could pretend he wasn't staring at me. Now, it's much harder to ignore him. 

'Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one,' Eric says. 'You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim.' I have a bad feeling about this. 'Everyone pick up three knives.' His voice sounds deeper than usual. I wonder if he's feeling as exhausted as everyone else. 'And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique to throwing them.' 

No one moves. 

'Now!'

We all scramble for daggers. I run my fingers along the blade, shivers running up my spine as I feel the cold metal against my skin. 

'He's in a good mood today,' whispers Will. I slam a palm over his mouth, effectively shutting him up - at great personal cost as he licks my palm a second later. 

'Just enjoy,' I say quietly, wiping my hand frantically on my pants, 'don't jinx it.' Will rolls his eyes, before offering me his arm, which I take, walking with him to where Four is demonstrating the proper method of throwing a knife. 

And it seems Four has a good aim - because just as he had with the gun, he hits the middle of the target. Every. Freaking. Time. 

'Line up!' Eric shouts, once Four has thrown each of the three knives he had been given, three knives of all of which were lodged in the targets. 

I am not good with knives. It's something which I have come to accept after having launched my knife and had missed the target. Something which Peter also seemed to notice, as he taunted me after each failed attempt. A part of me wants to throw the knife at him instead of the stupid target - but my aim's terrible, and I'd probably end up killing Al instead, who is practicing behind him. 

Al has a similar aim and has struggled with hitting the target - but unlike me, he has managed to hit the target at least once. Me? I couldn't so much as nick the side of it. With every throw, the knife if flying farther and farther from the target. By a few feet. I would have more chance of hitting the person next to me's target rather than my own. 

'How slow are you, Stiff?' says Eric, staring at me with distaste clear on his face as I miss the target for what may have been the twenty-sixth time - though I may be wrong, I have completely lost count. 'Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?' I'm aware he's mocking me - but I feel slightly better if I act as if he's being genuine. 

'Yes, that would be great, Ethan,' I say, turning around to face him. Eric glares at me, and I know I've made a mistake - because I hadn't only made fun of him in front of his insubordinates, but I had also dared to call him by the wrong name. 

'Throw it!' Eric hisses through gritted teeth. He's uncomfortably close to me, his hands are on my shoulders and forcing me to turn to the front. I try not to show my discomfort and keep a confident air as I launch the knife at the target.