Chapter 78 Chapter 78

Chapter 78 Chapter 78
Tito’s POV

“Again.”

That was the first word Kendrick said to me when I stumbled into the courtyard at dawn, still rubbing sleep from my eyes. There was no “good morning,” no warm-up smile, no gentle easing into whatever military nonsense he had set up today. Just again—as if I had already failed without even starting.

I blinked at him. “Kendrick, I literally just got here.”

He tossed the keys of the battered hatchback he’d pulled out from God knows where. “And you’re already too slow. Driver’s seat. Now.”

We had reached some sort of agreement yesterday, even though I could have sworn I wasn’t myself when I agreed. He agreed to teach me a little bit of self defense. And yes, he suggested it.

A groan dragged itself out of my chest, but I still obeyed. Something about Kendrick’s tone, firm, unbothered, and filled with the kind of confidence I was only starting to recognize, made my feet move even when my brain begged for mercy.

I slid into the seat, the cracked leather sticking to my thighs. Kendrick leaned against the car with his arms folded, his sunburnt forearms taut.

“Alright,” he said. “Scenario one. Someone starts tailing you. You need to lose them in under twenty seconds without flipping this car or killing us.”

I stared through the windshield. “And how exactly do I accomplish this with a car that sounds like it’s not exactly built for that and could die?”

Kendrick smirked. “By listening. And by trusting your instincts instead of panicking.”

He hopped into the passenger seat. “Drive.”

The second he clicked his seatbelt, I slammed the accelerator. The car lurched forward so violently that Kendrick grabbed the door with one hand.

“I said drive, not murder me!”
“You said lose them in twenty seconds!”
“That was before you tried to launch us into orbit—left, left, left, Tito!”

I yanked the wheel and the car skidded, tires screaming, adrenaline punching through every cell in my body. My heart thrashed against my ribs, not out of fear but because this…this speed, this instinctive movement, this insane trust that Kendrick would guide me before I hit a wall, felt like stepping into a different version of myself.

We zipped through the courtyard, between barrels, past cones he’d set up like some twisted obstacle course.

“Good!” he said, breath steady despite everything. He was watching me carefully, not the road. “Eyes forward. Anticipate the next turn before I say it.”

“What next turn? We’re boxed in!”

“Exactly. Figure it out.”

I swore under my breath and swerved, sliding the car into a perfect arc around a pile of bricks. Kendrick didn’t flinch.

Twenty seconds later, I slammed the brakes, breathless and sweating. The car coughed once. Twice. Then died.

I leaned back in the seat. “Did we… do we… count that as success?”

Kendrick tapped his watch. “Nineteen seconds.”

“Oh my God.”

His voice softened. “You did good.”

The compliment hit me harder than the driving itself. For a moment, the heat in my chest had nothing to do with adrenaline.

But of course, Kendrick wasn’t done.

“On your feet.”

Those were the words he used to introduce the second part of training—hand-to-hand combat basics. Which, apparently, translated to: Tito gets thrown on the ground repeatedly for an hour.

“If you keep tossing me like that I’m going to develop trust issues,” I snapped as I pushed myself up again, wincing at the blooming bruise on my shoulder.

Kendrick circled me with his hands behind his back. “You already have trust issues. At least this way, you get stronger from them.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better!”

“Good. Fighting isn’t supposed to feel good. Again.”

He stepped toward me and I reacted the way he’d taught me earlier—low stance, weight centered, hands up. My palms were slick with sweat, hair sticking to my forehead. The ground felt uneven under my feet, like it was waiting to betray me.

Kendrick didn’t strike immediately. He watched. He waited. His expression unreadable but focused. He was testing something.

I moved first, a clumsy jab at his side. He caught my wrist, twisted gently but firmly, and before I could blink he had me off-balance and flat on my back again.

“Ugh!” I stared at the sky. “This is abuse.”

“This is progress.”

“Lies.”

He crouched beside me. “You’re hesitating right before you commit to a move. That’s why you keep hitting the ground.”

“I’m not hesitating—I’m thinking.”

“You’re overthinking.” His gaze lowered to mine. “Stop judging yourself in real time. Just move. Trust your body.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered.

“It wasn’t. Decades ago, I was exactly like you. Too much brain, not enough instinct.” His voice was low, not patronizing but remembering something personal. “Tito, you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to react.”

It was stupid how encouraging that was.

I got back on my feet. He raised his hands this time, giving me the opening.

“Again,” I said.

He smiled. “Good girl.”

The words sent a stupid shiver across my skin. I tried to shove it out of my head before I said or did something stupid. I moved without thinking, just like he said, and managed to hook his ankle. Kendrick stumbled for once, and the shock on his face was priceless.

“Did I—did I just—”

“Yes,” he said, brushing dirt off his leg. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

But there was pride there. Obvious. Warm.

And God help me, I wanted to earn more of it.

The last part of training was situational awareness. Kendrick blindfolded me—rudely—and walked circles around me as he explained.

“Real danger doesn’t announce itself,” he said. “It breathes differently. Moves differently. You need to hear it before you see it.”

“I’m hearing you, but I don’t feel reassured.”

“You’ll live.” Then: “Probably.”

“Kendrick!”

But he only nudged my shoulder. “Tell me where I am.”

I breathed in. Out. Listened.

Footsteps on dirt. A shift of wind. The brush of fabric.

“Behind me,” I said.

He stayed silent for a beat. Then: “Good. Now—”

The air moved. Instinct took over. I ducked just as something swiped above my head—a padded stick he’d been hiding.

Kendrick's laugh was genuine. “See? You’re a natural when you stop doubting yourself.”

I straightened slowly, chest tight with a strange mix of pride and disbelief. “I didn’t even know I could do that.”

“That’s the point of training.” His voice softened, losing its hard edge. “You’re growing, Tito. Faster than you think.”

My throat tightened unexpectedly. I tied the blindfold up on my head and looked at him. Sweat-soaked shirt, dusty boots, hair ruffled by the wind. He looked like sunshine and danger wrapped into one person.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

He held my gaze, and for a second something shifted—something unspoken and a little reckless.

“Don’t thank me,” he murmured. “Just keep going.”

By the time the sun began to set, my entire body felt like it had been forged over a bonfire. Every muscle hummed. My knuckles were sore. My clothes were sticking uncomfortably to my skin.

But beneath all the exhaustion… was a hum of exhilaration.

I felt alive in a way I hadn’t expected.

Kendrick tossed me a bottle of cold water. “Drink.”

I gulped half of it in one go. He sat beside me on the steps, close enough that our shoulders almost brushed.

“You’ve changed,” he said quietly.

I glanced at him. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“In a necessary way.” His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Strength isn’t just muscle. It’s choosing not to be afraid of your own potential.”

I swallowed slowly. “I didn’t know I had any.”

“You do.” The softness in his voice caught me off guard. “And you’re learning to trust yourself. That’s more dangerous than anything I could teach you.”

A breeze cut through the heat of the day, lifting loose strands of my hair. Kendrick reached over—hesitant, almost gentle—and tucked one behind my ear.

My heart stopped. Or maybe it just shifted.

“Tito,” he said, his tone suddenly careful. “You’re handling all of this better than you realize.”

Something warm bloomed in my chest. I exhaled.

“I feel… stronger,” I admitted. “Not invincible, but… like I’m not running anymore.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Good. You’ll need that.”

I looked at him sharply. “Need it for what?”

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he said:

“Tomorrow,” he said, standing and offering me a hand, “we start weapons training.”

I stared up at him, my pulse jumping. “Weapons?”

“Yes.”

“And today wasn’t weapons?”

“That was warm-up.”

“Oh my God.”

Kendrick only smiled slowly, amused, maddeningly confident.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “You’re mine to train.”