Everyone is staring at us. It's pretty uncomfortable—reminds me of school, back when I'd curse someone out or punch a kid in the face for pushing me too far.
The problem is, this isn't school. It's more like an assassin training program, and the targets are terrorists and Conductors—which means me.
If I come off as untrustworthy, they might all turn on me. And then I'll have a bigger problem than just one angry white-haired girl.
I grab her wrist and apply a bit of force to break free. Her furious expression shifts into one of disgust.
"What is your problem, girl?" I ask. She doesn't waver in her outrage, but I hear the crowd around us react with quiet gasps, like I just said something forbidden.
"My problem?" she snaps back. "My problem is you. You're a killer. You're not supposed to be here."
"Girl, I have no idea what you're talking about. That Negra woman is the one who brought me here." I hear even more whispers spreading through the room.
"Look, I've had a crazy day. Can I just lie down and rest without having to fight you again?"
More murmurs. Louder this time. I catch a few clearly:
"He called the Commander by name?"
"Does he even know who he's talking about?"
"What does he mean 'fight her again'? No way he survived a fight with the Chief."
She notices the reaction too. She raises her voice—definitely loud enough for everyone to hear:
"First of all, my name is Solares. Second, don't refer to the Commander by her name—that's disrespectful. And third, the last time we fought, I went easy on you."
The look she gives me hits like a gut punch. She's trying to humiliate me in front of everyone. That's bad—my dad always said people who humiliate others end up the biggest losers.
"Well… just so you know, I was going easy too. My dad said hitting a woman is cowardly."
"I knocked you unconscious!" she snaps. She's furious. It's kind of funny, honestly.
The crowd noise picks up again with every word she throws at me.
"Yeah, you did," I reply, grinning. "But it wasn't fair. I was unarmed and had my guard down. And no offense, but I didn't think a girl could hit that hard."
The ones in the front let out a collective "Oooooh." Those farther back are just now hearing what I said, but their reaction is about the same.
She steps closer, clearly challenging me. She's my height, so she can't look down on me like Negra did. Her eyes are so red they look like they're burning, and her skin doesn't have a single scratch on it.
Can't judge her by appearance—but if it weren't for the knockout she gave me earlier, I'd think she was just some spoiled rich kid.
"I already told you, my name is Solares."
Solares. That name really does suit her. Actually, most names reflect the city someone was born in. Solares could easily be from Solar City, in District 2. But I doubt there are many people with white hair there.
Albinos usually come from District 6, a fully climate-controlled place where no one ever gets sun, which is why people there look practically transparent. They're super intelligent and rarely hot-tempered—so that pretty much rules her out.
Still, Solares is an interesting name. A little generic, maybe. But it might be fun to mess with.
"Alright, Sol," I say, giving her a nickname. "Just stop looking at me like that. I think you're prettier when you're not furious."
The murmurs turn into full-on conversations, which quickly escalate into a commotion. That wasn't my intention—I just said what came to mind.
"You…" she snarls, charging at me.
Her first strike is a punch—I deflect her arm to the side. She recovers quickly and throws another one, grazing just under my chin.
She's clearly well-trained, no doubt about that. But I wonder—does she know real street fighting, or just choreographed drills?
She keeps pressing forward, trying to land another punch. I sweep at her legs, but she hops back. For a second, she looks unsure of what to do next—or at least it seems that way.
Noan is sitting behind her on our bunk, mouth hanging open. Sol, still looking a bit disoriented, glances around like she's searching for something.
She finds it. And I don't like that look in her eyes.
She looks up toward my bunk and sees my bat.
"Hey! Don't even think about—"
Too late. She grabs the side of the bed, misjudges the weight, and stumbles a little. The bat's tip slams against the floor.
"Put it down," I say, this time with genuine concern. "You might hurt yourself—it's heavy."
Sol freezes. She looks at me with an expression so stunned it's almost funny. But it doesn't last. Now she's hoisting the bat with both hands—clumsily, I might add.
And now she's charging at me with it like she's ready to kill.
"Whoa! Hold on!" I dodge to the side. "Hey—calm down!" I dodge again. And again.
It's easy—her swings are way too wide. That's the downside of my dad's metal bat: not great for people who aren't used to it.
I could keep this up, but someone's going to get hurt at this rate.
"That's enough, girl!" I shout.
I grab the bat with one hand and don't let go. She tries to pull it back, but I'm stronger. This won't work. I need to be more persuasive.
"I said…" I start to focus my energy in one direction. "That's enough!"
A chill runs down my back, and I feel a tingling sensation. Only then do I realize—tiny sparks are crackling from my skin.
The girl lets go of the bat and backs off. No real reason for that—it's a rubber handle—but I guess I understand.
"You attacked me," she says.
"What? No! You attacked me, girl!"
"You're a Conductor! You're here to kill all of us! I'm not falling for your act!"
Before I can fire back, the dorm door slides open and one of those all-black soldiers walks in.
"Leader Solares." The crowd parts to give way—but not for him.
"The Commander is asking for you."
Everyone turns to look at the white-haired girl, waiting for a reaction. She looks irritated—then her expression slowly changes.
She takes a deep breath and stomps off with heavy steps, like the floor itself offended her, following the soldier.
When the door closes behind her, I get bombarded with stares.
"So it's true… You are a Conductor?" Noan asks, stepping closer.
Yeah. This is going to be a pain in the ass.