Free Threader by Rebekah Turner

identical pinched features and short hair. Their chatter falls silent when Cora and I enter.
    â€˜Help yourself to anything in the fridge or cupboards,’ Cora tells me. ‘Everything in the break-out rooms are communal. Coffee is over there.’ She points to a fancy looking machine beside the window.
    The two girls pause in buttering their toast and stare at me with hostile eyes. The guy just smirks. I try not to feel intimidated as I walk over, while Cora sticks her head in the fridge and pulls out a protein drink. She doesn’t introduce me to the others and I wonder if it’s because she doesn’t know them. I stare down at the coffee machine, feeling a little lost with all the glossy buttons.
    â€˜Here, I’ll help you,’ Cora says. ‘You need a six-week training course and an air-car license to operate this thing.’
    She grabs a mug from a cupboard and places it in the machine’s slot, then presses a few of the buttons. I watch closely, trying to memorise it for next time.
    One of the twins whispers something to her sister and they both snicker. Tension scoots up my neck, but I try to ignore them, focusing on my mug being filled with glorious fresh coffee. When it’s ready, I see Cora’s scored a muffin each for us and I follow her to the table.
    â€˜You want milk in that?’ Cora gestures to my coffee.
    â€˜Yeah, want milk in that?’ One of the twins sneers. ‘Cora should have plenty in those huge breasts of hers.’
    Cora pretends she hasn’t heard them and I do the same. Being a loner throughout school, I suffered through my fair share of being bullied and I know how to defend myself now. But until I get a better feel for the place, I’m going to keep my head down and be a good little cadet.
    â€˜I like it black,’ I tell Cora, though I really do want milk. No sense in making things worse. My muffin is nice, with juicy chunks of fruit and a sugar crust on top. Halfway through my black coffee, I start wondering if maybe I don’t mind it this way after all, though my legs are starting to feel restless, my fingers drumming against my thigh. I get up and walk to the window, mug in hand, eager to explore. I’m there all of five seconds before I feel the air shift behind me. The reflection of the window shows me it’s the guy with the buzz cut. I sip my coffee.
    â€˜What’s your talent, fresh meat?’ he asks. ‘Price of a coffee is some show and tell. As in, I’m telling and you’re showing.’
    The twins giggle like he’s hilarious. I turn slow, like I’m not bothered that my personal space is being crowded. I’ve got to tilt my head up to look this guy in the eyes. His breath smells like rancid tinned asparagus and his eyes are flat and sneaky looking. I make a big show of blowing on my hot drink. Most bullies back off when they realise they won’t get a rise. Of course, other times they just try harder. The guy shoves a finger into one of my shoulders and I just avoid spilling hot coffee over myself.
    â€˜You deaf?’
    â€˜Keep your hands off me,’ I snap.
    The twins twitter some more, enjoying the show as they munch on their toast at the kitchen counter. The big guy’s smile widens. ‘You gonna scream for help, fresh meat? You gonna show everyone you can’t fight? This place is only for the biggest and baddest talents. Plenty come here, but not everyone gets to stay. You think you got what it takes?’
    Cora tries to muscle the guy away, but she can barely budge him. ‘Leave her alone, Dutch.’
    â€˜Shut up, fatty.’ He throws her a glare and Cora shrinks back, pulling her cardigan around her shoulders.
    â€˜You get away from her or else,’ she tries again, but her voice is faint.
    â€˜Or else what ?’ Dutch sneers at her, then makes a show of preparing to shove a finger into my shoulder again. Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite get