“Come here!” Owen called, waving me over to where he sat in the grass with Katrina. She was laying down with her head in his lap. He offered me part of a sandwich. “From the market,” he explained. I took a bite, relishing the fresh flavor. It must’ve cost more than a handful of coins. In our city, teenagers were not allowed to work while they were in school, but some of us did odd jobs to help our families or for spending money.

“Glace,” Owen nudged me, “there’s a meeting tonight. Are you coming?”

I looked down at my hands. It had been almost a week since we had gone to the Byre, and the days had been peacefully uneventful. Nevertheless, the group meant more to me than peace. “Yes,” I replied, “I’ll be there.”

***

I was greeted by raucous laughter. Several group members ruffled my hair and clapped my shoulders as I took my seat at the table. At least two-dozen people were strewn about, leaning against the wall or seated in wooden chairs. They were mostly men, workers with unkempt beards and burly boots. The scent of sweat and alcohol rose off of their skin.

I spotted Owen and Katrina near the head of the table, next to Owen’s father, Peter, the group’s president. As always, he seemed unbothered by the noise. His blue eyes scanned the room, making sure nothing was amiss. As the last members trickled in, he brushed off his uniform and stood up. The room quieted instantly.

“Welcome, everyone,” he began, “to the 346th meeting of the Resistance.” His words were received with claps and shouts. “I thank you all for coming today. Through the act of meeting, we resist Keon’s wretched regime. Of course, we must also thank Daichi for letting us use his basement as our venue.”

He gestured to a dark-skinned man sitting in the corner, who nodded in acknowledgement. Once again, the crowd hooted and hollered. Daichi’s house was the ideal site for meetings. It was in the poor area of town, not far from the Byre, where the government occupation was not as prominent.

Peter cleared his throat. “Now, I would like to make a request. I would like anyone who is not of age to leave for the night. Please attend the next meeting as usual.”

The younger members of the Resistance pushed back their chairs and left the room. I stood up to do the same when Owen whispered something into his father’s ear. Peter hesitated, but nodded. Owen gestured at me to sit down. We were staying.

“Listen closely.” Peter continued. “Not long from now, we will begin the first stages of a mission that we have been planning for some time. We have kept the number of people who know about this mission very small, but now we must ask for volunteers. I must stress the danger of this proposition. I cannot yet share the details, but I can confirm that this will be our most difficult and riskiest mission yet.”

I rubbed the skin on my knuckles. As far as I know, it’s unusual for the group to take direct action. What are they planning?

“If you do not wish to be involved,” Peter continued, “please leave immediately. There is absolutely no shame in wanting to protect yourself. This mission is not recommended for anyone with a family, those who cannot run long distances, and those without fight training.”

More people rose to leave the basement, filing out in intervals so as to not raise attention. I gripped the edge of the table and glanced at my friends, but they showed no signs of leaving. Soon, only eleven people remained.

“All right,” Peter said, “I will be speaking to each of you individually to gauge your readiness for this task. You will each be given a position if you choose to proceed.” His eyes swept over the group, appraising us.

“Wait,” a woman spoke, “you’re not seriously considering letting these young people join, are you?”

I sighed with relief. She’s got a point. Surely, Peter will say that we’re just observing-

“Owen is my son,” he responded, “and after listening to him, I have realized that these kids understand our cause well enough. I will let them decide. I have a feeling that they each have a role to play.”

***

“Go easy on her,” Owen whispered as he passed me my hand wraps.

I looped the fabric between my fingers and tied it behind my wrist. “Sure.”

“I’m serious. She hasn’t fought like us.”

“Yeah, I know.” I gritted my teeth. “Why have her spar if it’s not for real?”

Owen fixed me with a glare. “It’s her first time.”

I rolled my eyes and shut my mouth. He claimed that he wanted to prepare Katrina for the group’s mission, but he wasn’t willing to do it right. What’s the point, anyway? I asked myself. Her daddy works in the government. She doesn’t understand what the Resistance stands for, she’s just doing it for Owen.

I took my fighting stance across from Katrina. She mirrored me, and I brought my hands to my cheekbones and watched her through the gap in my fists. “You’re standing too square,” I instructed. “That makes you a bigger target for your opponent.”

Unfazed, Katrina fixed her stance and we touched fists to signal the beginning of the fight. She struck first, jutting her left fist out toward my nose. Using my forearm, I guided her arm past my head and stepped to her side, turning to strike her stomach with my knee. “Ugh!” she shouted, doubling over.

I stepped back. “That punch left you wide open.”

“Glace!” Owen seethed, “You didn’t have to hit her that hard.”

“It wasn’t hard. She’s not conditioned.”

“It’s okay,” Katrina said, standing up straighter, “let’s go again.”

I nodded. At least she’s trying. We took up our positions again. This time, we circled each other for a moment. I kicked with my back leg, aiming for her outer thigh. At the last moment, she lifted her left so that my kick fell on her shin. “Good block.”

She responded with a punch to my chin, which I parried and returned with an uppercut. She staggered backwards, and I took the opportunity to front-kick her right between the ribs.

She fell to her knees. “That’s enough!” Owen yelled.

“Peter didn’t teach us to give up after one kick.”

“Shut up and spar with me.”

“Fine,” I snapped. It wasn’t like Owen to lash out at me, but it seemed like taking care of Katrina superseded all else. We touched fists and took our places across from each other. Owen’s eyes filled with a familiar intensity, and I tightened my stance. He plans to go hard on me.

Without warning, he stepped forward and struck twice with his leading arm. My body twisted just enough to minimize the damage. I rolled under his hook and kicked him sharply in the inner thigh. He grunted and pushed forward with his punches, too quickly for me to block. I tucked my head and hunched my shoulders to wait out the storm.

As soon as there was an opening, I hit him in the jaw with an uppercut, forcing him to back off. We watched each other carefully, both panting. I turned sideways and kicked him twice with the same leg, once to the calf and once to the head. He blocked with his forearm and struck back. We exchanged a series of combinations in rapid fire, neither of us able to best the other.

I blocked a roundhouse kick from Owen and struck with my own, but my move was slow and sloppy. He looped his arm over my leg, trapped it with his hip, and pushed me back onto the ground. He pinned me with his knees and hit me once, hard, in the side.

I coughed. For a moment, we met each other’s eyes. We were both covered in sweat and dirt, and our hair was plastered to our faces. Owen’s blue eyes were sharp and bright. A line of blood trickled from his nose and dripped off of his chin.

“You win,” I conceded.