Kestrel's POV
They think I'm lying when I tell them I want to register for the fight. The men at the registration table look at each other and burst out laughing, like I just told the funniest joke they've ever heard. One of them, a bald guy with a scar across his eyebrow, leans back in his chair and shakes his head.
"There's no way on earth a tiny little red girl like you is serious about this," he says, still chuckling. "This isn't some kickboxing class, sweetheart. People die in that ring."
"I'm not your sweetheart," I say coldly, slamming my hand on the table. "And I didn't come here to play. Let me register or I'll find someone who will."
The other guy, younger with tattoos covering both arms, looks me up and down with a smirk. "What are you trying to prove, Red? That you're tough
