He's baiting me. He knows something is off. The 'late bloomer' story isn't holding water.
"Of course," I replied. "Wouldn't want to burn down VHC headquarters on my first visit. Bad form."
Washington didn't smile. Instead, he pressed a button on his console. The floor rumbled, and a section of the sterile white floor slid open. A reinforced training dummy—similar to the one I'd been slicing to ribbons in Luka's home gym—rose from below. This one looked sturdier, though, with metallic plates embedded at key points. Monitoring sensors glinted from its surface.
Washington gestured toward the dummy. "Show me."
I extended my hand toward the dummy, channeling [Ember]. I intentionally made the flame sputter and waver at first, like I was still getting used to it. A good con always shows a bit of weakness to make the mark feel superior.
