About eight minutes into assassin training, I decide that I hate it.
Anton claps his hands at me, making me jog around the room in faster and faster circles, calling it my training exercises and telling me I’d never even make it through the Candidacy at the Academy at this rate. It’s funny for about two minutes, before I get winded and decide that I’m never doing this ever again.
“Juniper!” Anton shouts, appalled as I stop and lean against the wall, conjuring up a cup of coffee. “You can’t take a break – you did like three laps!”
“I’m not the sporty sister,” I groan, tilting my head petulantly back. “I don’t want to be fit! Can’t I just…plan the assassinations from the comfort of a very nice chair? And then you go commit them?” I nod to him eagerly, as this is clearly the best plan. “I
