With the sound of a metallic drum being hit, Scotty slammed both hands on the table. “How can it be any simpler!”

  Even feeling like he was hearing all of this from the bottom of a well, far, far away, Wade’s eyebrows rose to hear someone using that tone on Frost. The white-haired man held the younger Bane’s gaze until Scotty looked away and took several steps back.

  “I apologize for raising my voice,” he muttered.

  “Apology accepted. And, to answer your question, we have to acknowledge several facts. First, this was an argument between two adults. And, technically, Wade has a higher rank and is in a position of power over the person who raised their voice.”

  A raised finger stopped whatever words were about to spill out from the murderous mask of outrage and disbelief that was Scotty’s expression.

  “Second, Jasque is not a simple bodyguard, and Wade is not a simple asset. As much as I personally detest it, our protocols require that he be under 24/7 supervision until we can substantiate Ms. Methusela’s claims. That means we are required to have someone, or several someones. who not only have the sort of clearance and magical oaths required, but they must also be willing to give up their lives and public identities so that they can move around every few years, spending most of their time performing beneath their capabilities and in a situation that does not allow them to utilize a vast majority of the salaries given to them.”

  With every word, Wade felt his heart shrivel up with guilt, recalling how much Jasque had sacrificed to look over him and fill in for his mistakes. The man wasn’t even guarding someone like Frost and or Beige, who were called out to be bulwarks, or secure important objectives.

  “To narrow the pool further,” Frost said, “few people within that group have the caliber of personal capability needed to check any of the exceptional threats that would want to capture, coerce, or kill a Godkiller.”

  “I don’t care, I’ll do it. Just get me some new papers and send him away!”

  Quietly, Jasque snorted as he went back to leaning on the wall.

  Wade winced and looked away.

  Despite it being a sore topic they never really discussed, everyone knew Scotty and Jasque were very different kinds of threats. As a combat enchanter, Scotty was in the highest echelons. There were magical problems and defenses that no one else could handle. But, as a personal threat… Sure, Scotty could probably assassinate Jasque. Maybe. From very far away. But if the two of them actually fought? Odds were in the Slayer’s favor. Not to denigrate Scotty. There were few people who could go toe-to-toe with Jasque in a straight-up brawl without massive preparation. Being someone who had any chance of pulling it off at all was a huge badge of honor. It just wasn’t enough. Especially when you considered that Jasque was always prepared, always equipped, always alert, and that one of the only times in the last several years his bodyguard had been surprised was earlier this day.

  “You are not certified for that, but thank you,” Frost said, his tone serious and straightforward. Pretending it was a simple matter of paperwork spared Scotty’s dignity, but all of them still picked up on the subtext. His best friend’s face went red, and he glared at Jasque with a sort of helpless homicidal rage.

  “In acknowledgment of the extreme circumstances and serious allegations of emotional abuse and mistreatment,” Frost said. ”I cannot make a judgment call and resolve things immediately. I would like to, and I think it would spare us all pain, but we have to be fair. Everyone deserves a chance to be heard. We will need a full investigation and to proceed very carefully.”

  “Very good, sir,” Jasque smirked.

  “I’m glad you think so. Because I will be moving your assignment while we gather information. You will be switching places with Bryan from my security detail.”

  Jasque stopped moving. He stopped breathing. Slowly, those glimmering, lifeless doll eyes moved to lock onto Frost. The slayer’s head tilted to the side like a curious bird, and he spoke without bothering to add any form of emoting to his tone.

  “Bryan doesn’t have the right profile to supplement Wade’s abilities and weaknesses.”

  “The camp has enough security to compensate.”

  “You’ll need Bryan during the incursion.”

  “Wade and I will both get a fully qualified and extensive detail that does not include you during the incursion.”

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  “I am not.”

  Jasque’s head tilted to the other side, weighing the man in front of him like he was figuring out how best to take him apart and fix him. “You’ve already said, out loud, in front of witnesses, that you believe Wade regardless of evidence. You’re biased.”

  “Interesting thought,” the snow-haired man said, returning to his seat and clasping his hands together. With the sort of warm smile that would make veteran paparazzi swoon, he said, “Barring the ‘disposition’ of the witnesses in question, let me take a turn pointing out my own observations. Scotty, or should I call him the esteemed, well-respected, and decorated Mr. Hillsboro, noted you saying something about healer-assisted training.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Jasque fired back a response without hesitation. “Having a healer on site is the only prudent way to ensure Wade is in peak condition while still getting an opportunity to push himself.”

  “Hmmm, yes. If I had seen that on a regular request form from anyone else, I would have thought exactly that. Now though… Well, let me ask you, Wade, how often do you need to use the healer for these training sessions?”

  With a start, he sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his dry throat. For a minute there, he hadn’t felt like he’d been present at all. Like he was an audience member watching Frost’s performance from behind the fourth wall. “For the serious session? Every time. Why else have the healers onsite?”

  If he had thought more before speaking, maybe he would have found a better way to phrase that. Because, as it was, he could feel the pressure of Jasque’s eyes boring into him.

  “I see. Now, tell me, what sort of things do these healers need to address?”

  “Well, I mean, they’re there so you can feel real consequences and not build bad habits because your body has learned to stop fearing a foam sword.”

  “I agree, but what are ‘real consequences’ in this context?”

  “I guess—”

  “Don’t guess,” Frost interrupted. “Tell me from your own experience.”

  There were too many eyes on him. Wade looked down at his hands and started scratching at a small patch of rust on the table.

  He didn’t want to drag this out or make anyone mad. This whole thing was ridiculous and embarrassing, and he just wanted it to be over. His dirty laundry, all the shame, and all the help he needed weren’t things he wanted Frost of all people to see.

  Shit, he didn’t want Scotty to see how hopeless he was. Having these men think less of him would be worse than any combat wound.

  Plus, a deep part of him remembered being in high school. Remembered the slow build of hurt and failed ‘help’ in middle school. He knew how ‘helpful’ people had responded. When they weren’t lying in the first place, it still never worked. If something was a problem, your options were to scream inside your skin and wait to be rescued, or to change it with your own hands.

  Though he might not consciously realize it, that lesson tugged at him from the depths of memory.

  In the end, his life was hard. His training was harder. And that was good; it was the only way to turn into something that could make a difference. He was born a spoon in a world of machetes. He’d never reforge himself into a sword, but he’d cut off every single piece of himself that it took so he could at least die as a blood-covered shiv.

  His duty to the world, to the power he had been given, demanded no less.

  With that in mind, he tried to recall the stories Jasque had told about the unit that taught him about healer-assisted training. The injuries his minder mentioned being so common they had become a joke among that group.

  “I’d get my fingers, maybe a foot healed when training. You know, the little bones,” he said, technically telling the truth.

  “Of course,” Frost said, unperturbed. “And about how many times in a session?”

  Wade smiled and felt his posture rise. “Recently? Only a dozen times or so,” he boasted.

  It took him several seconds to notice the tenor of the room. Scotty’s mouth was open, and Jasque’s upper lip was curled in disgust at Wade’s idiocy.

  “He broke your fingers a dozen times?” Scotty whispered. Head jerking around everyone’s face, Wade tried to backpedal. “No. I mean, over the course of three or four hours. It’s not a big deal.”

  “You did bone-breaking sparing for three hours?”

  Honest, they had done a hell of a lot more than that. “Yes?” he said, not sure exactly where he had fucked up.

  “Jesus fuck! What else did you break?”

  “I don’t know! Bruises and little bang-ups.”

  “Bruises where, Wade? On your goddam liver?”

  Well, yeah. Duh.

  He must not have guarded his expression well enough because his best friend’s face went white with fury.

  “You’re fucking kidding me. What are you going to say next? That you did this without breaks or water?”

  “Going without water…” the twitch in Jasque’s hand was all it took for him to change what he was about to say, “isnnnnn’t something I would do?” He found himself staring at Jasque and quietly praying he could get some sort of direction. No sleep and no water fasting wasn’t that bad. It toughened you. Honed you. And sparring a few days fasted was a great way to deplete your body of excess fat after a trip like this with Scotty.

  It shouldn’t be a big deal. People had weird, first-world entitlements to their junk food and comforts. But everyone in the rooms was operating at elite levels. All of them had done wilderness training. They knew hunger and discipline. They all volunteered for hardship so they could be tougher than their opponents. That was the quintessential nature of competition and excellence.

  Before things could go any further, Frost stood up and slowly made his way to the door. “That's about what I expected. I think we’re done here.”

  Jasque spun to face him, holding up his hands at his side with a flabbergasted look on his face, “It’s a common, well-documented training methodology, and I refuse to act like—”

  Frost interrupted, “Like you weren’t aware that the units that popularized that doctrine were dismantled? That even though we use it on occasion, it requires intense paperwork? That kind of paperwork that leaves records, I am positive we do not have for Wade. Or are we acting like you didn’t know that we required psych evals for every course of healer-assisted training that exceeds three major injuries? I ask because I’m curious. You see, I know for a fact that you have had to go through those papers and evals more than a dozen times yourself, since you opted into such training sessions at near record levels.”

  The two locked eyes while Scotty clenched his fists and glared at Jasque with the kind of fury that Wade had not seen since Shilloh head-butted something until its brains had made a skull-soup.

  Jasque’s posture and face went back to perfect neutrality. “I would like more details about this investigation process, a written copy of your report, and information about my rights.”

  “Of course,” Frost said, smiling without his teeth while his eyes glimmered like the scope of a rifle. “I’ll have a separate meeting with you. But, until otherwise noted, you are not to speak, communicate, or otherwise interact with Wade. Not at all. Not directly or indirectly. If someone sees you holding eye contact with him, if you cough in a pattern, or if you make gestures that could be construed as any form of communication within the range of a Were’s enhanced eyes, I will see that as willful and intentional interference. Understood?”

  Quietly, Jasque twisted his head to look at Wade. “Understood,” his mouth said.

  ‘We’ll discuss this later,’ his eyes said.

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