Page 366 - Fourth Wing

looks to be a dozen different daggers in a dozen different sheaths.

Is it absolutely toxic that I’m attracted to this look on him? Probably. But
one look, and my temperature rises.

“Leave your blades off the mat,” he instructs, and nearly a dozen riders

glance our way from other mats.
At least Liam has been given the time to go train himself a couple of mats

over against Dain—a first. Most of the squads are in here, making use of

the unexpected free time, so thankfully everyone is busy training instead of
watching us.

“But you’re armed.” I glance pointedly to his sheaths.

“You either trust me or you don’t.” He tilts his head to the side slightly,
exposing more of the rebellion relic curving up around his neck. The same

relic I caressed with my hand while he had me against the foundation wall
more than a month ago.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

But my body has no problem remembering.
I blow out my breath in a long sigh and step to the edge of the mat,

unsheathing every dagger I own and the ones I’ve won, then laying them on
the floor.

“I’m unarmed. Happy now?” I turn to face him, putting my arms out. My

long sleeve covers the bandage on my arm, but the throb is insistent.
“Though we probably could have waited a couple of days for my arm to

heal up before doing this.” The stitches pull, but I’ve had worse.

“No.” He shakes his head, unsheathing one of his daggers and walking
forward. “The enemy doesn’t give a shit if you’re wounded. They’ll use it

to their advantage. If you don’t know how to fight in pain, then you’ll get us

both killed.”
“Fine.” I shift my body weight in annoyance. Little does he know, I’m

almost always in pain. It’s pretty much my comfort zone. “That’s actually a
good point, so I’ll let you have it.”