Page 91 - Fourth Wing

points to Rhiannon and another first-year in our squad, a man with a stocky

build, blue-black hair, and angular features. Shit, I can’t remember his
name. Trevor? Thomas, maybe? There are too many new people to

remember who is who at this point.

I glance at Dain, but he’s watching the pair as they take the mat.
Rhiannon makes quick work of the first-year, stunning me every time she

dodges a punch and lands one of her own. She’s fast, and her hits are

powerful, the kind of lethal combination that will set her apart, just like
Mira.

“Do you yield?” she asks the first-year guy when she takes him to his

back, her hand stopped mid-hit just above his throat.
Tanner? I’m pretty sure it’s something that starts with a T.

“No!” he shouts, hooking his legs around Rhiannon’s and slamming her
to her back. But she rolls and quickly gains her feet before putting him in

the same position again, this time with her boot to his neck.

“I don’t know, Tynan, you might want to yield,” Dain says with a grin.
“She’s handing you your ass.”

Ah, that’s right. Tynan.
“Fuck off, Aetos!” Tynan snaps, but Rhiannon presses her boot into his

throat, garbling the last word. He turns a mottled shade of red.

Yeah, Tynan has more ego than common sense.
“He yields,” Emetterio calls out, and Rhiannon steps back, offering her

hand.

Tynan takes it.
“You—” Emetterio points to the pink-haired second-year with the

rebellion relic. “And you.” His finger swings to me.

She’s at least a head taller than me, and if the rest of her body is as toned
as her arms, then I’m pretty much fucked.

I can’t let her get her hands on me.
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, but I nod and step onto the