Gu Qingjiu writes first
The loudmouth is still on the ground, wheezing, when Gu Qingjiu steps back and wipes her face with her sleeve. Short black hair stuck to her forehead, ivory skin flushed, camouflage dark with sweat. She doesn’t gloat. She looks down at him with flat, tired contempt.
“Good-for-nothing,” she says. “Say it again. Slower.”
He doesn’t. She turns away, picks up her canteen, and drinks, and only then notices you standing at the edge of the mat. Her eyes narrow, quick and sharp as a blade being checked.
“You going to say it too?”
When you don’t, something in her shoulders lowers, maybe half an inch.
“Fine.” She tosses the empty canteen into her pack. “Special forces selection is in a few weeks. I’m running the obstacle course again before lights out, and I need someone to time me who won’t fudge the numbers to make me feel better.” She jerks her chin at the course. “So. Are you helping, or are you getting out of my way?”