Four tables full of weapons from the tiniest of knives to some seriously big guns that looked as though they could take down an elephant. I paused there. The shadow world was dangerous, but more so when you drew attention to yourself, which meant quiet weapons were best.

More for defense than anything else in my opinion—which was really Gran’s opinion.

I drew closer to the first table and let my hand drift over some of the steel blades. And frowned. There were hairline cracks in several of them. In fact, every weapon I looked at had some terrible flaw that really didn’t impress me. Maybe this was the cheap stuff, though, maybe the good stuff was in the back.

Moving to the next table of weapons, I looked for the vendor. Make that vendors. A pair of twins, to be exact.

Both were quite beefy, almost as wide as they were tall, and they had matching blond beards that hung to their chests. The pair of them looked rounder than the Vikings in documentaries and movies, but otherwise they fit the image, down to metal chainmail they wore over their tan shirts.

One of the other trainees was already there, haggling with them. The girl who’d been making eyes at Corb as if he were the last man on earth and she was ovulating and eager to pop out a mini-Corb.

“Hey!” I called out to her. She looked at me and quickly turned her back on me. As if I didn’t exist.

It was going to be like that, was it? I did a quick scan for her trainer and found Corb hanging back in the shadows. I frowned. “How the hell did they get here ahead of us?”

Sarge snickered. “They probably used the street-level doors.”

I spun and punched him in the chest, right in the old breadbasket. He let out an oof and took a couple of steps back, and my clenched fist immediately throbbed as though I’d punched a wall rather than a block of muscle. But it was worth it for the low chuckle that rolled from Corb as he drew close.

“Sarge, seems you’ve pissed her off already. I have to say, well done. She hasn’t even taken a swing at me yet.”

I shook my head. “He’s lovely to look at, Corb, but really, your friend is kind of a dick. And not the good kind of dick. A bit on the limp side.”

Corb would have made a better poker player than most, except that I saw the smile in his eyes while his lips fought it off. He cleared his throat. “We aren’t allowed to help, Bree. You have to do this on your own too. All part of seeing how you can handle things as they come up.”