The frosty morning wind tore across the clifftop, whipping my hair into a storm, but I positioned myself the same way, eyes slitted as I stared him down.
He shrugged and swung his weapon.
With a growl, I lunged at him, my driftwood staff slicing through the air in a frantic sweep.
Aranare met my blow with precision, his sword rising to block with a crack. “Again,” he said, unmoved.
I gritted my teeth. Tears stung my eyes as I thought about what Parker had done to my friend and the guilt I felt for not checking up on her sooner. My shoulders burned, and my breath became ragged, but I spun and struck again—harder this time.
Anger gave me momentum. Every swing was a release. Every clash of our weapons, my fist slamming into Parker’s head.
“You’re not thinking,” he warned, parrying my strike and stepping aside. “You’re feeling.”
“Good,” I snapped, already pivoting into another attack.
And still, he let me come at him—again and again—until the morning mist thickened into low clouds and a fine drizzle kissed our faces.
My arms trembled, and the fire in me finally began to flicker into focus. Only then did Aranare lay down his sword.
I flung my stick onto the ground beside it, chest heaving.
“Your turn.” He jerked his chin at Skye.
“I-I’m just going to watch,” she mumbled.
“You may not want to tell me what happened to your face, lass, but I daresay you could use the means to protect yourself.”
Her cheeks flushed, and I handed her my piece of driftwood.
Aranare retook his fighting stance.
Skye fumbled with the wood, her footing too wide as she rushed forward and slung her weapon at Aranare, who stepped calmly to one side.
The stick slipped from her fingers, clattering to the grass. “Graceful as a drunk seal,” she moaned.
“There’s only one drunk seal around here, and it’s not you.” Aranare winked at me, and I gave him the finger.
Skye tightened her ponytail. Her lips pulled into a pout.
“You’re overthinking,” Aranare said, retrieving the driftwood stick. “Combat is like the sea. You move with it, not against it.” A smile softened the lines of his face as he strode over, handing the staff back to her.
As he stepped closer to correct Skye’s grip, his hand brushed hers, lingering just a moment too long. She looked up, breath catching. Her cheeks flushed, and her emotions washed over me: desire.
“Again,” Aranare murmured, moving back from her. A rouge colored his bronzed neck, and the hand that had been resting against hers trembled slightly.
I fought the grin tugging my lips upward and turned to the ocean, pretending not to notice the inklings of something starting behind me.
“That was awesome!” Skye’s heartbreak had transformed into elation as we trailed back across the cliff toward the bay. I was glad the training hadtaken her mind off the hurt Parker had caused. Over the past two weeks, our sessions had also helped me process everything I’d been through.
As we passed through the industrial district, my gaze fell on where the Ferris wheel had once stood—now just a heap of rubble—and a shudder ran through me.
“Can I come with you every day?” Skye crossed her arms over her chest as if suddenly remembering the bruises on her face.
“Sure.” I grinned. “I’ve got mindfulness training with Louisa next. Do you want to join?”
“Why are you doing all this training? You’ve been very strange since you left your job and went away—to where? America? I’m kind of worried about you.”
“You’re worried about me?” I choked on a laugh.
