Martin gripped the edges of the wooden bucket beside the arena gate, his knuckles white, and vomited until there was nothing left but dry, painful heaves.
He spat the sour taste from his mouth, wiped his lips with the back of his trembling hand, and looked up at Alex. "If I forfeit right now," Martin croaked, his voice cracking, "does it still count as attendance for Cassandra's class?"
Alex leaned against the stone archway, his arms crossed over his uniform. His right hand remained wrapped in white bandages, a quiet reminder of what actual combat cost. "If you forfeit now," Alex said mildly, "Cassandra will drag you into the center of the ring herself and use you as a training dummy for the rest of the semester. So no, I wouldn't recommend it."
