Chapter 182
Raven
For one glorious moment, I thought he might actually learn something. That maybe—just maybe—humiliation could be educational.
Then his mouth opened.
"Sir!" Han's voice cracked as he twisted his head toward General Reeves, careful not to move his throat against my blade. Smart boy. "Sir, this is—she cheated! She violated protocol! You can't allow—"
Oh, for fuck's sake.
I stepped back, lowering the knife. Let him dig his own grave. It would be more entertaining that way.
"Violated protocol?" Major Thompson's voice cut through the clearing like a whip crack. She stood with her arms crossed, one hip cocked, her expression somewhere between amused and disgusted. "How, exactly?"
"She—she attacked me! Without warning! That's not—"
"Without warning?" Mitchell laughed. Actually laughed, a sharp bark that made several candidates jump. "You literally challenged her. In front of everyone. You claimed she was a fake."
"I—" Han's face cycled through several shades of red. "She still shouldn't have—"
"Shouldn't have what?" Zhao stepped forward, her boot heels clicking against the packed earth. "Demonstrated exactly what you claimed she couldn't do? Proved she could kill you without you even noticing?"
Han opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again like a fish drowning in air.
This is beautiful. Don't interrupt. Let them cook him.
"Listen carefully," Thompson said, her voice dropping to that dangerous register that made even Reeves look impressed. "You stood there—in front of God, country, and thirty-seven witnesses—and declared that this girl couldn't possibly be a professional killer. That her skills were 'acting' and 'drama school.'"
"Yes, but—"
"So she showed you." Mitchell gestured at Han's tighty-whities with barely concealed glee. "She dismantled your clothes without touching your skin. She could have slit your throat, eviscerated you, or carved her initials into your spleen. Instead, she gave you a fashion intervention. And you have the audacity to complain about protocol?"
Han's jaw worked soundlessly. Behind him, I caught sight of Ethan trying desperately not to laugh, his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.
"I want another chance," Han ground out, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "A fair fight. No tricks. No—"
"No tricks?" I couldn't help myself. The words slipped out, light and amused. "Sweetheart, that wasn't a trick. That was a professional demonstration. If you want a fair fight..."
I flipped the KA-BAR in my hand, offering him the handle.
"Come get one."
The clearing went silent. Even the jungle seemed to hold its breath.
Han stared at the knife. At me. At the knife again. His fingers twitched toward it.
Do it. Please do it. Make my fucking day.
His hand reached out—
Then dropped.
Because that's when he remembered. His gaze flickered down to his bare legs, his ratty underwear, the complete absence of anything resembling dignity.
You could actually see the moment his brain processed the logistics. How exactly does one execute a proper combat stance when one is dressed like a three-year-old who had an accident?
Priceless.
"That's what I thought." I tucked the knife back into my waistband, then tossed Thompson's KA-BAR back to her. She caught it without looking. Professional.
Han's face went from crimson to something approaching eggplant. "This isn't over."
"Oh, honey." I smiled. The kind of smile that made him take a step back despite himself. "It was over before it started."
He turned and ran. Actually ran, his pale legs pumping, his hands cupped protectively over his... dignity.
The clearing exploded into laughter again. Not just the candidates this time—even some of the soldiers were losing their composure.
"Ten out of ten," Mitchell announced, her voice cutting through the noise. She held up all ten fingers, grinning like a shark. "Perfect score."
"Agreed." Thompson. "Ten."
"Make it unanimous." Zhao. "Best thing I've seen all week."
Reeves stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Miss Martinez."
Here we go. The disciplinary speech.
"Sir."
"That was..." He paused, and I swear I saw the ghost of a smile twitch at his mouth. "Educational. Dismissed."
I blinked. "Sir?"
"You heard me. Go get some water. Let these poor bastards finish their evaluations without further traumatizing anyone."
Did he just... approve?
The remaining evaluations went fast after that. Maybe it was Han's spectacular failure. Maybe it was the knowledge that one tiny teenage girl had just psychologically destroyed a North Korean operative. Either way, candidates started getting real creative with their disguises.
A woman named Sarah pulled off a convincing elderly homeless vet. Eight points.
Diego transformed into a Wall Street douchebag so accurate that Mitchell instinctively wanted to audit his taxes. Seven points.
Katya dressed up as a babushka. Complete with headscarf, hunched posture, and a shopping bag full of potatoes. She even yelled at Reeves in Russian about produce prices. It was so authentically Russian grandmother that Zhao asked if she'd brought her actual grandma. Nine points.
Of course the Russian nails the babushka. Shocking.
Marcus... Marcus tried to be a soccer mom. It was bad. Like, "your wig is on backward and those yoga pants are a crime against humanity" bad. Four points. Eliminated.
Two others followed him out—a guy who thought "disguise" meant "wear a fake mustache," and a woman whose idea of blending in was apparently dressing like a literal clown.
Jesus Christ. Did they learn nothing from the briefing?
When the dust settled, six remained. Me, Katya, Ethan. A stone-faced Marine named Connor. A wiry woman from SEAL Team 3 called Jade. And yes—somehow—Han fucking Ji-woo, who'd apparently scored just high enough with his K-pop star disguise to squeak through before I'd demolished his ego.
Reeves surveyed us with the expression of a man who'd just watched his retirement fund evaporate.
"Six candidates," he said. "From thirty-eight. Tomorrow, you face the real tests. Tonight, you eat."