Lahat ng Kabanata ng The crippled omega warrior girl : Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

*Isla*I reach the edge of the branch. My hand, slick with sweat and blood, closes over the rough wood. I've made it. I'm not one of the first five. I won't get the double ration. But it doesn’t matter, I am here, I did it against all odds. I didn't fall.I manage to pull myself onto the branch, all but collapsing over it, my body shaking with a violent combination of exhaustion and pain. I lie there, my cheek pressed against the bark, and just breathe. Telling myself that I did it. I survived.A shadow falls over me. I don't have to look up to know it's Caelen. He moves with a silence that's unnerving. And I honestly half expect him to kick me off the branch."Cadet," he says, his voice as impassive as ever.I push myself up, my shoulder screaming in protest, and force myself to a sitting position, my legs dangling precariously. I face him, meeting those unnervingly bright green eyes without flinching. I have nothing left to hide."Sir," I manage, my voice a hoarse whisper.He studie

*Isla* The nightshade company is spread across the clearing in pairs and trios now. Some spar with wooden blades. Some drag weighted sledges over roots and stones. One poor bastard is hauling himself hand over hand up a rope while a supervisor times him without mercy. Caelen stands near the far edge, half-turned toward a rough table someone has hauled into the shade. Maps are spread across it, pinned with knives. Two senior warriors stand with him, speaking low. Even from here I feel that wrong pull in my belly. It is infuriating. He hasn't touched me. Hasn't smiled. Has barely given me three sentences that weren't an order. Still my body notices him as if the rest of the world is background and he is the blade in the center of it. He looks up before I can look away. His gaze lands on my wrapped shoulder, then the papers in my hand. A single nod. Approval, maybe. Or simple acknowledgment that I obeyed. It should not warm me. It does. Cedric notices where I'm looking and his wh

*Isla*Bran's group does exactly what I thought they would, pounding onto the bridge in a mass of brute confidence. The whole thing jerks sideways at once. One of them nearly loses his footing, and the shouting starts immediately."Go," Liora says.Tomas flies over the first dip and onto the rope bridge like fear has sharpened him. He moves quickly but not wildly, hands and feet sure. At the far side he braces and calls, "Now."Lark follows. I go third, slower, shoulder tight, leg complaining at every shifting slat. The ravine yawns below, full of rocks and old leaves. Wind brushes up cold from the gap. Halfway across, a broken plank swings under my bad foot and my stomach drops."Left rope," Caelen's voice cuts across the course.I grab the left rope hard and steady myself. He isn't close enough to touch me. He doesn't move to help. He just saw the danger before I did and named the correction.I make the far side breathing through my teeth.Liora lands beside me a moment later. "If I

*Isla*My fingers tighten on the whistle cord."Sir," I whisper."Quiet."It is barely sound at all.We move off the path into a stand of firs. He catches my forearm this time, brief and hard, guiding me behind a thick trunk. The contact burns through me, hot enough to blur thought. Then he lets go and crouches, one knee in the needles, listening.I sink carefully beside him, heart pounding against my ribs. We are too close. Shoulder to shoulder nearly, his cloak brushing my boot. I can hear his breathing, slow and measured.Then the wind shifts.A scent hits us, old rot under fresh blood.My stomach turns.Caelen's jaw locks so hard I hear his teeth click.It is small, that reaction. Nearly nothing. But in him it lands like a shout.Again, the sound in the brush. A dragging step. Then silence.Every story from winter hearths comes crawling back with cold fingers. Rotting muzzles. dead-eyed monsters. Things that used to be wolves and became something wrong.No. This is a drill. It has

*Isla*The equipment list outside the barracks is a joke written by sadists.Rope, one coil per team. Flint. Two empty sacks. One canteen. A chalk marker. No weapons beyond our training knives. Return before dusk with six tagged items hidden through the western training grounds. Fastest company wins a hot supper. Slowest loses blanket privileges for two nights."Blanket privileges," Liora mutters, reading over my shoulder. "As if warmth is now an honor bestowed by the crown."Tomas squints at the list. "What are tagged items?""Probably something impossible," Lark says.Bran elbows past a pair of yawning cadets and scans the board. His broken nose is still swollen, which makes his permanent scowl look almost impressive. "Western grounds means bog ridge, old quarry, creek cut, and the briar field."Liora groans. "Excellent. They've built a game out of all my least favorite ways to die."Torven appears behind us like a moving wall. He smells faintly of sleep and last night's stew. "Need