Page 65 of Shattered & Returned

At least we weren’t fighting in our usual high-necked Victorian dresses with their restrictive bodices and heavy skirts. Instead, everyone wore tight-fitting gear that felt scandalous by comparison. I kept my eyes carefully above waist level, though other girls showed no such restraint—Sindy included, who was openly looking her fill.

“We push you to your limits so you’ll all rise to the occasion,” Dante said, earning cheers from the crowd. He grinned. “That’s the spirit.” Then his gaze locked onto me, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s perfectly safe, Carrot. Since it’s your first class, you don’t know that these blades are enchanted. They can’t kill.”

“But they can maim, yes?” I pressed, ignoring the nickname I despised.

Unprofessional bastard.

“Yes,” Dante confirmed, far too cheerfully. “But we have top-tier healers on standby. Just try not to get hit. You’ll still feel every cut.”

I didn’t fear pain, but I refused to accept pain without purpose. The idea of bleeding or being maimed for sport turned my stomach.

“I’d like to sit this one out, Instructor Dante,” I said, my voice quieter.

“Unfortunately, participation is mandatory,” Dante replied, his sympathy as thin as his patience.

Of course. The school didn’t even follow its own rules. Everything operated on the whims of those in power.

The other students shot me impatient glares as my questions ate into their time. With a careless wave from Dante, the first pairs lunged into action. Steel rang against steel, filling the hall with a chaotic chorus of clashing blades.

Sindy pulled me back, her whisper urgent. “Calm down, Bloom. You’re painting a target on your back.”

Pointing out the injustice—that I’d never had a proper lesson—would change nothing. Fairness had never been Forsaken Academy’s priority.

I gave Sindy a grateful nod. At least with her as my partner, I stood a chance. Guilt prickled at me. I was holding her back with my inexperience.

“Bloom! I challenge you!”

A shrill voice cut through the noise. One of Angelina’s lackeys sauntered toward me, her eyes gleaming with malice. She stood at least five inches taller than me, her frame thick with muscle, a black broadsword resting easily in her grip. My dagger suddenly felt absurdly small.

My stomach dropped. The fragile safety I’d felt with Sindy as my partner evaporated instantly.

“Name’s Toby,” she announced, preening for the crowd as heads turned our way. “Angelina sends her regards.”

“Save the theatrics,” I said, my voice hard, my fingers tightening around the jeweled dagger. “Her death wasn’t my doing.”

I had no choice but to step onto the mat. Sindy shot me a worried glance, mouthingbe carefulbefore retreating. The crowd swelled around us, drawn by the promise of an uneven match.

Toby fell into a flawless fighting stance, every movement polished through relentless training. I copied the half-remembered posture from some French action film, instantlyaware of how ridiculous I looked. The difference between us couldn’t have been clearer.

And my opponent proved it immediately. She lunged forward keenly, her broadsword cutting through the space where my shoulder had been a split second before. I staggered back, barely keeping my feet. Snickers rippled through the onlookers.

“This’ll be over fast, snowflake,” she jeered, circling me like a hyena.

She struck again, a horizontal slash that would’ve opened my ribs. I dropped into a crouch, feeling the blade’s wind tear at my hair. Adrenaline surged through my veins, sharpening my senses. I was mostly dodging her onslaught, quite surprised that I was still standing.

“Quick running like a chicken and fight!” someone yelled. The taunt ignited others, their voices merging into a merciless chorus.

Toby pressed her advantage, driving me backward with a series of precise strikes. With each attack, I scrambled to stay out of reach, twisting away by instinct alone. Survival overrode thought.

“You got this, Bloom!” Sindy called out, the lone note of encouragement.

But I didn’t havethis. I didn’t stand a chance.

“Five silver coins says she bleeds in thirty seconds,” a voice called.

“Ten coins,” another answered.

As Toby raised her blade for a crushing overhead strike, panic surged through me.

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