Twilight slams into the ground, bouncing and skidding across the training room before sliding to a slow stop. Two minutes pass and he doesn 't get up. Sylvia strides over, hands in her pockets. His chest rises and falls quickly. His lids flutter. She nudges him with the pointed, unscuffed, patent leather toe of her stiletto heel.

'Handler, ' he mumbles. 'Please respect the dead. '

'You can 't be dead because I 'm not done with you yet. Get up. '

He pulls himself up onto his palms, swearing under his breath the entire time. His muttering isn 't quite loud enough for her to catch any specifics, but it 's also not quiet enough for her not to know he wants her to hear. She smiles down at him.

'It 's a wonder you thought you could even touch Yor like this. '

'I know you 're trying to insult me, but you 're the one who trained me. '

Sylvia 's grin falls like rock. 'Up. '