Ember threw up her hood, crossing the threshold between the training building and the cold forest. She froze mid-step, sensing a presence nearby, and turned to see a slim figure leaning against the stone exterior. “Jisu?” she asked tentatively, both relieved and nervous to see that her partner had waited for her.

The panther nodded, her face obscured in the dusk. “Let’s walk back to campus together.”

The two fell into step, their boots crunching on the icy trail. Ember took a deep breath, the air stinging on the way down her windpipe. “I’m sorry,” she said decisively.

“As you should be,” Jisu said, regarding her cooly. Ember’s heart sank, and as she opened her mouth to grovel, a small smile lifted the corner of the cat’s lips. “Relax. I’m teasing. I’ve been exactly where you are now.”

“You’ve improved,” Ember admitted, “both your physical condition and your form. Your footwork looked like dance steps, and I couldn’t keep up.”

Jisu’s gaze turned upward. “Ember,” she said carefully, “have you ever felt as though you were facing an unconquerable mountain?”

Ember blinked, surprised by the question. She could guess at the feeling to which Jisu was referring, but she had the sense that the cat would say something valuable if she feigned ignorance. “A mountain? What do you mean?”

Jisu sighed, watching as a cloud of vapor detached itself from her lips and drifted into the tree line. “The truth is, when we first met, I was by far the stronger fighter. I knew that you were improving, but I never believed that you could surpass me. Even when Mr. Badger warned me not to be complacent, I didn’t believe him.”

Ember’s brows pinched together. He never seemed to have that much confidence in me.

“I was shocked and embarrassed when you bested me at the evaluation. It was the first time I had suffered that kind of loss, made worse by the fact that you had only been training a matter of months. Fighting was my entire identity, but I crumbled in front of a true protégé.”

“Maybe someone like Roland is a protégé, but not me,” Ember argued. “I’m still in the first level of the intermediate class, and I performed pitifully just now.”

Jisu stopped her with a hand. “Regardless, from that day on, I felt as though I was facing an insurmountable obstacle. No matter how hard I trained, you trained harder. On the night of the solstice, your murderous expression made me realize that if I didn’t do something, I would be forever in your shadow.”

At her words, a feeling of deep-seated déjà vu stirred within Ember, and she shuddered, reminded of the overwhelming pressure of the rogue and Freya. “So what did you do?”

“I humbled myself. I went to Corax, and I begged him to help me grow stronger. He must have sensed my desperation because he sent me to a master fighter. Her name is the Ghost Cat.”

A master. Ember recognized the title: it belonged only to members of the Apex Association, Linnaeans who had won at least one Division One tournament cycle and who transcended the top four hundred ranks. Suddenly, Ember’s envy returned, though she fought to tamp it down. “Did she take you as her apprentice?” she asked, her voice filled with trepidation.

“No, no,” Jisu said, shaking her head. “I am nowhere near worthy of that designation. I carried out a task for her, and in exchange, she trained me for a month.”

An unpleasant sensation wormed its way into Ember’s belly. The consequences of the time she had spent trapped in her own bubble had come to fruition—she was soberingly ignorant of the fighters’ politics. Does Roland have a master, as I heard rumored in his debut fight? Does Elliot?

Jisu touched Ember’s shoulder, bringing them both to a stop on the trail. “I want to challenge you, Ember,” she said fiercely, her emerald eyes aflame. “I want to push each other to the breaking point.”

Ember’s gaze sharpened, and a hiss escaped from between her teeth. “That’s what I’m talking about,” Jisu said quietly. “That lethal aura.”

Ember shook her head, pulling herself back from her instinct. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jisu said. She let out a small laugh, and the tension between them dissipated.

“You’re right. It’s as you said before: we will rise up the ranks together.”

“Yes. Today means nothing in the scheme of our careers. Besides… I know you’re still in pain from your fight with Freya.”

Ember’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Because she trusted that Jisu would keep quiet, she felt more annoyed than concerned. “Apparently, the perks of training with a master include the latest gossip,” she said drily.

“I prefer to call it being informed,” the cat corrected, winking.

***

“You’ve grown,” Marcus said, the ball of his foot catching her in the stomach and propelling her onto her rear end. “Your movements are less erratic and more precise.”

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Ember grimaced, rubbing her tailbone. “You’re still holding back.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Elliot said from across the clearing. “Marcus would be a ranker if not for his leg injury.”

“It’s true,” the python shrugged, offering her his hand only to withdraw it at the last moment, teasing her. “But I can tell your training is paying off.”

Ember caught Marcus’s arm, pulling herself to her feet. For ten days straight, she had trained in only the most basic punches and kicks. It was almost unbearably difficult to restrict herself in the face of her instinct, especially when she fought stronger fighters.

“I know you’re discouraged,” he said, his voice softening, “but even the strongest opponents can be beaten by a single move if it’s powerful enough. It’s better to train the same skill one thousand times than to train one thousand different skills once.”

As usual, his insight caught her by surprise. He looked her over, his eyes glazed, a tell-tale sign that he was using his infrared vision. “Tell you what,” he said, “we’re almost done for the day, so why don’t you ask Amir about your venom?”

Ember grimaced, knowing that he must be remembering her slip-up during the fight with Freya. Still, she nodded—she was spent both mentally and physically from the brutal, monotonous training, and a break would not be amiss.

“Come here, kid,” Amir called, having overheard their conversation from between the trees.

Rolling her eyes at the nickname, Ember obliged. As she came up beside Amir, she realized that the skin on his hands, forearms, and shins was bruised and broken. “What happened to you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He gestured at the tree in front of him, whose bark was painted dark red with his blood. “Bone hardening,” he explained. “Small, repeated injuries to the bones increase their density. The same stress, when applied to the skin, forms protective callouses. Let me show you.”

He paused, backed up, and swung his leg at full force into the tree. A bang like gunfire rang out through the clearing, and the oak tremored, raining debris. His shin leaked blood but otherwise appeared to be intact.

“Holy shit,” Ember breathed, knowing that the impact would have snapped her bone in half.

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly, “it may not be pretty, but I’d rather suffer now than during a match.”

Ember nodded, impressed by his fortitude. If I had that ability, I might have held out longer against Freya, she reasoned, remembering how the harpy eagle’s strikes had left hematomas beneath her skin.

“Anyway,” the lizard said, wiping his hands on his pants, “how are your fangs coming in?”

“Well, they’re fully grown,” she explained, “and according to my doctor, they might shed soon.” She opened her mouth and extended her fangs, showing him. After six weeks of growth, they had reached their full length of three-quarters of an inch. The one on the left had been chipped during her attack on Freya, but the right was fully intact.

Amir squinted at her—unfortunately, one of his mutations had been a degradation in his eyesight. “Have you ever tried injecting your venom?”

“Not on purpose,” Ember said, glancing at Marcus.

“Hmm. The mechanism behind our venom is different, but I might be able to help you.” He opened his mouth, revealing a series of razor-sharp, wavelike teeth. “Your fangs are hollow, and they dispense your venom like needles, but my venom is released in the mouth and chewed in by the teeth. Our venom glands are similar, but mine are at the end of my jaw, whereas yours are…”

“Below and behind my eyes,” Ember supplied, remembering her research.

“Right. For both of us, a compressor muscle presses on the gland in order for the venom to be released. That muscle is going to take some time to develop, but it’s better to grow accustomed to using it before your venom synthesizes.”

He poked her in the jaw with a stocky finger, and her hand shot up to stop his, her eyes narrowed in a glare. He chuckled. “First, visualize the muscle and imagine it compressing. Then, practice engaging the muscles in your face individually. This will help you gain control and recognize when you’re focusing on the wrong areas.

“When you do activate the muscle, practice it in tandem with extending your fangs. Eventually, both will become automatic, but it’s important that you don’t engage them only by instinct. Without partial control, your envenomations will always have the potential to be fatal.”

Ember traced a finger below her eye socket, trying to flex the muscle beneath. The sensation she had felt while fighting Freya was nowhere to be found; in fact, the area felt completely devoid of motion. “It’s going to take some time,” she admitted, “but thank you.”

“No problem,” Amir grinned. A cold gust blew over the group, and he shivered. “Okay. Let’s go inside and have breakfast.”

Ahead of them, Marcus and Elliot agreed, slinging their bags over their shoulders and beginning to make their way back to the dorm. Ember watched them for a moment, feeling a rush of gratefulness for the time that they had spent guiding her.

She caught up to Elliot, looking up at the prefect’s large frame. His appearance was as savage as ever: one large, leathery hand held his armored tail to keep it from dragging, his teeth jutted threateningly from his mouth, and his cunning yellow eyes held an air of deadly confidence. Despite that, Ember was at ease in his presence.

“Elliot,” she said, “can I ask you something?”

His bright yellow eyes were curious. “Of course.”

“Do you have a master?”

A small noise of surprise came from Amir, who turned toward them with wide eyes. Ember’s gaze slid sideways to Marcus, who was watching them in his peripheral vision. “Perhaps I overstepped,” Ember backpedaled, holding up her hands. “It’s okay if-”

Elliot laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “That’s a very personal question, little viper.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Ember said truthfully. From how she had heard the others speculate about other rankers having a master, she hadn’t thought that it was something to conceal.

“The politics of the Apex Association are quite complicated,” Elliot explained. “The members of the association form rivalries and alliances with each other. It’s a great honor to be publicly claimed by your mentor, but it also means that you’ll open yourself up to challenges from the students of their rivals. If you’re not prepared, you’ll be crushed. Besides, such a partnership is rarely free.”

At his words, Ember’s illusion of a harmonious coalition of fighters shattered. Wouldn’t Corax, the association’s leader, prefer to keep the peace? Her brows knit together, and she imagined him positioning the masters like pieces on a chessboard. Perhaps not, if their feuding grants him greater control. But what was his motive for sending Jisu to the Ghost Cat?

“Thank you,” she told Elliot, “You’ve given me much to think about.”