Cain's head hurt.
Not the sharp, fleeting pain of a wound or the dull throb of exhaustion, but the deep, gnawing ache of too many thoughts clashing together in his mind. Abel's words still echoed in his skull, their weight impossible to shake. The illusion of freedom. The illusion of choice.
He tightened the straps on his gloves, his jaw clenched. The training room was quiet except for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the low hum of his own breathing. It wasn't the sterile stillness of the observation room or the warm façade of Abel's interrogation chamber—this was his space. A place where his body could act without his mind intruding.
Valkyrie stood at the opposite end of the mat, her expression calm but watchful. She was always watching, always assessing. The way she carried herself was calculated, her body a blade honed to perfection. If Cain was a hammer, built to break, Valkyrie was a scalpel, designed to cut with precision.
«You're distracted,» she said, her voice sharp but not unkind.
Cain rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension that clung to him like a second skin. «I'm fine.»
Valkyrie's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smirk. «No, you're not. But that's what this is for, isn't it?» She stepped onto the mat, her movements fluid, almost effortless. She'd already removed her jacket, leaving her in a fitted tank and combat pants. Every inch of her spoke of control, from the measured pace of her steps to the way her hands flexed at her sides.
Cain didn't respond. Instead, he stepped onto the mat opposite her, raising his fists.
«No weapons?» she asked, arching an eyebrow.
He shook his head. «Not today.»
Cain's muscles tensed as he dropped into a defensive stance, his fists raised. Valkyrie mirrored him, her body loose but ready, like a spring coiled to strike. She studied him with those piercing eyes, reading every subtle shift in his posture, every flicker of movement. She always had a knack for getting under his skin—not with words, but with the calm, almost predatory way she carried herself.
The first move came fast. Valkyrie darted in with a sharp jab aimed at his ribs, but Cain deflected it with a quick sweep of his forearm. Her movements were a blur, precise and efficient, each strike aimed to exploit a weakness.
Cain countered with a hook aimed at her side, but she twisted away, her footwork flawless. «You're too slow today,» she said, her tone light but edged with challenge. «Thinking too much, Cain. You can't afford that in a fight.»
He didn't reply, instead driving forward with a quick combination—two jabs and a cross. Valkyrie blocked the first two, but the cross slipped past her guard, grazing her shoulder. She didn't falter. If anything, the faint sting seemed to ignite her focus. She pivoted on her heel, her leg snapping up in a fluid arc aimed at his torso.
Cain caught the kick with his forearm, grunting at the impact but holding his ground. She pressed her advantage, closing the distance and driving her knee toward his midsection. He twisted his body, absorbing the blow but keeping his balance.
«Not bad,» she admitted, her breath steady despite the effort. «But not good enough.»
She dropped low, sweeping his legs out from under him in one swift motion. Cain hit the mat hard, the air rushing from his lungs. Before he could fully recover, Valkyrie was on him, her knee pressing into his chest, one hand gripping his wrist while the other hovered near his throat.
«Pinned,» she said simply, her voice calm but with a hint of satisfaction.
Cain glared up at her, his jaw tight. «Don't get used to it.»
She raised an eyebrow, leaning back just enough to give him space. «I've heard that before.»
With a burst of strength, Cain shoved her off and rolled to his feet, his movements sharp despite the ache in his ribs. Valkyrie was already standing, a faint smirk playing on her lips as she wiped the back of her hand across her brow.
«You're holding back,» she said, folding her arms as she watched him. «That's not like you.»
Cain exhaled slowly, rolling his neck to loosen the tension. «I've got a lot on my mind.»
«Abel,» she guessed, her tone neutral but with an undercurrent of understanding.
His silence was answer enough.
Valkyrie paced slowly around the edge of the mat, her sharp eyes never leaving Cain. She moved like a predator circling its prey, though there was no malice in her gaze—just the unyielding assessment of someone who expected more.
«Abel's in your head,» she said, her tone matter-of-fact. «And it's throwing you off. Whatever he said, let it go. He likes the sound of his own voice too much to mean half of it anyway.»
Cain frowned, his fists still raised. «It's not what he said. It's how he said it. Like he's so damn sure of himself, like he knows the world will bend to his will because he talks pretty.»
Valkyrie snorted, shaking her head. «That's Abel for you. He spins his words into gold and gets people to follow him like he's their savior. But you?» She stopped, her arms crossing as she leveled him with a steady look. «You don't need to do that. You don't have to talk circles around people to get them to follow you.»
Cain tilted his head, his voice low and skeptical. «And why's that?»
She stepped closer, her posture relaxed but commanding. «Because you act. Abel's the kind of man who can make a thousand promises and dress them up with a bow, but promises don't win wars. Actions do. You've always been the one who gets your hands dirty, who steps into the fire when everyone else hesitates. That's why people follow you. That's why I follow you.»
Cain's gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. «You make it sound simple.»
«It is simple,» she said bluntly. «Abel can play his little games with illusions and words, but you don't need to. You're not about illusions, Cain. You're about reality. About showing people that you'll fight for them, bleed for them if you have to. That's what they respect. That's what they trust.»
He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. «Sometimes, I wonder if it's enough. Abel has this way of making you doubt yourself, like everything you've built could crumble with a single word from him.»
Valkyrie stepped even closer, her voice dropping into something quieter but no less firm. «That's because Abel's strength is in doubt. He plants it in people like a seed and watches it grow. But you? You don't give people doubt. You give them something solid. You give them action. And that scares the hell out of him.»
Cain's eyes flicked up to meet hers, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. «You really think he's scared of me?»
«I don't think, Cain. I know.» She unfolded her arms, gesturing to the mat. «Abel can't do what you do. He talks because he's afraid of what happens if people stop listening. You act because you don't need their permission. That's what makes you dangerous.»
The words hung between them, a quiet weight that settled on Cain's shoulders—not a burden, but something grounding. He nodded slowly, rolling his shoulders and stepping back onto the mat. «You always know what to say, Valk.»
She smirked, a rare flicker of amusement in her otherwise serious demeanor. «It's my job to keep you from falling apart, remember?»
Cain raised his fists again, his stance more focused now, more assured. «Then you better keep doing it.»
«Gladly,» she said, dropping into a stance of her own. «Now stop overthinking and show me that you're still the one in charge. Let's go.»
This time, when they moved, there was no hesitation in Cain's strikes, no weight of doubt slowing him down. Each punch, each block, was decisive, a reflection of the words Valkyrie had drilled into him. Abel could talk all he wanted. Cain would act. And in the end, action would speak louder than anything Abel could ever say.