Through them, I can see Cassius at the head of a table, Peter and Paul flanking him, Lionel standing guard.
There are others too—men I don't recognize, all wearing expensive suits and dangerous expressions.
They're discussing something serious—numbers, territories, names I don't recognize.
Arkady Morozov is mentioned.
Something about the new percentage and maintaining supply chains.
Then Cassius looks up and sees me.
His eyes go cold.
Colder than I've ever seen them.
I push open the door, and all conversation stops.
Every man in the room turns to stare at me.
"You're early." His voice is flat, emotionless.
"I couldn't wait."
"Clearly." He turns back to his papers, dismissing me. "Lionel, take her to the training room. Position three. She can wait there until I'm finished."
My stomach drops.
Training room? Position three?
In front of all these men, he's ordering me to be punished like a misbehaving child.
Lionel's massive hand closes around my arm, not harsh but firm. "Come on, girl."
As he leads me out, I hear one of the men chuckle. "Having trouble with your pet, Wolfe?"
"Nothing I can't handle," Cassius replies coldly. "Now, about the eastern territories..."
The training room makes my breath catch.
It's sparse, clinical almost.
White walls, black floor, fluorescent lights that leave nowhere to hide.
Equipment lines the walls—things I recognize and things I don't.
Crosses, benches, frames, devices I have no names for but understand the purpose of.
They’re tools for breaking people.
Tools for rebuilding them into something else.
In the center is a frame, metal bars forming a rectangle with attachment points at each corner.
"Position three," Lionel says, almost gently. "You know what that is?"
I don't, but I can guess. "Kneeling?"
"Standing. Arms up, attached here." He indicates the top bars. "Legs spread, attached here." The bottom corners. "It's a stress position. Hurts after a while."
