Chapter 7 Dumbfounded

Maverick was the youngest general in Delmonta—the sharpest combatant we had. His first reaction to provocation was rage. "What a clown." He shoved his bodyguards aside and lunged at Noah like a leopard, his fists aiming straight for Noah's face. "Noah, run!" I shouted instinctively, my mind flashing back to that day in the hospital when he had been beaten bloody. In the next instant, I heard a crisp crack—the sound of bone breaking. Time seemed to freeze. Maverick's fist, strong enough to punch through steel, was caught with just one hand by Noah. He stood perfectly still, not even shifting his weight. His large, defined hand wrapped around Maverick's fist as if it were a child's toy. "General Cross," Noah called out lightly, his tone as casual as when he asked if I wanted extra pepper on my eggs. "Did you learn your combat skills from a gym teacher?" Maverick's eyes widened, and his expression shifted from rage to pure, unadulterated horror. He tried to pull his fist back, but it