Marked by fate
He smirks, the bastard knows exactly how that sounds.
‘That’s a fucking relief,’ Zanthe mutters dryly.
“Lieutenant Quinn, you’re up first,” Thompson calls.
Mila strides forward. She’s still panting, but she’s not about to keel over like some of the others. They circle each other, both focused, both coiled tight. Mila lunges first—she’s quick, wickedly fast, light on her feet, moving more like a cat than a wolf. Thompson, though… he’s a battering ram. For someone so massive, he’s surprisingly nimble, and I can practically feel the shockwaves from his hits.
Bab Populer