Young Sentinels (Wearing the Cape) (Volume 3) by Marion G. Harmon Page A

hadn’t told me was that Watchman’s last assignment had been as a fight instructor at Fort Hood in Texas — where he’d trainedsupersoldiers for special Army, Air Force, Navy, and Marine units.
    That’s right; he’d trained superSEALs, superRangers, and other insanely lethal gods of war. His motto was “Training should be tougher than combat”; he’d gotten the scar that ran from his eye to his jaw in a training exercise , and now he got to focus on me . Oh, joyous day.
    I wanted to score a real win off of him so bad I could taste it like the blood in my mouth (Somewhere in the fight, I’d bitten my cheek.). I grabbed a towel to mop the sweat.
    “You’re really getting better,” Shelly said loyally, handing us the bottles she’d brought with her. “At least you’re lasting longer...”
    “And I feel it. Ghah!” I stretched, flexed my neck, and felt something pop back into place. Watchman politely accepted his and took a drink, then reset the room’s function. The variable-mass weight machines Vulcan had designed and fabricated for us rose from the floor and he began doing shoulder presses.
    I considered joining him, but I’d had enough. Finishing the stretch, I started doing yoga postures while Shelly watched; Chakra had started me on yoga when she introduced us to the mental tricks that might help us detect telepathic manipulation, and training against my own body’s resistance made sense and was even fun. I lingered a bit five moves into the routine, poised on my left foot, right leg straight out parallel to the floor and toes pointed at the ceiling, bent forward with arms extended along my leg, fingers interlaced as a saddle for my right foot, forehead resting on my knee.
    “Now you’re just showing off. What is that even called ?”
    “Dandanayama-janushirasana.”
    “Bless you.” She fidgeted, and I smiled against my leg where she couldn’t see. Should I ask Watchman how his session with Mal had gone?
    “So, Seven?”
    Okay, maybe Mal wasn’t the one on her mind.
    “To quote Jacky, ‘Bite me.’” Cutting the routine short, I dropped into toe-stand position, balanced on the toes of my right foot so my butt rested on my heel instead of the floor, left leg folded over so my left foot rested on my right thigh in lotus position, hands in prayer position above my heart, eyes closed and breathing controlled. Since I hardly felt my own weight, I could keep it up as long as I maintained my balance (but staying up by “flying” was cheating).
    “So, how long are you going to do that?”
    “Shhh.”
    “Seriously.”
    “Waiting is all.”
    “You know Chakra was quoting a science fiction character, don’t you?”
    I kept my eyes closed, but couldn’t hide the grin. “Wisdom is where you find it, Sifu says. You gave me a week, Shell, now leave it alone.” I wasn’t about to tell her my Seven resolution; waiting would drive her crazy .
    Not that she’d have to wait long; enough was enough. Last night, I’d woken from a courtroom dream that started with Dan Raffles asking me to describe the events of May 25th and ended with the defense attorney asking my opinion of Seven’s hazel eyes. And may I remind the witness that she is under oath? Judge Sanderson overruled Dan’s objection — that my opinion of the defendant’s eyes would be prejudicial to the jury — and my horror as my mouth started to open rocketed me out of bed. Literally.
    I wasn’t twelve anymore, I had things to do, and it was time to get proactive; the next time Blackstone sent Seven and me out in the field together...
    Shelly huffed. “So then — ” The lights dimmed, came back up shaded Emergency Red, and her eyes unfocused. “Crap. Blackstone’s calling. Something’s going down at the Daley Center.”
    I fell out of position.

    Megaton
    Failure tastes like acid, the bile at the back of your throat when you think you’re going to toss your cookies. So lunch sucked. After Watchman and Variforce left me in the