The Art Of Dying
"I'm trying."
"Try harder." He lunged again.
This time, I was too slow. His claws caught my shoulder, drawing blood. Not deep, but enough to hurt.
I stumbled back, clutching the wound. "Damn it."
"That would have killed you in a real fight." Mickey studied me with those predatory eyes. "You're physically capable. Your reflexes are decent. But you hesitate. Like you don't believe you can win."
"Because I can't," I said, frustration boiling over. "I'm the weakest person on the team. Everyone else has powers, abilities, years of experience. I have nothing."
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