“You are my problem.”
“I’m not part of your squad. What is it with you?”
“You belong to this Academy as long as it allows you to live,” he said. “You won’t if you mistake invitation for safety. For a moment, something flickered across his face, something that might have been humor. It died quickly.
“You don’t like me,” she said. “You made that clear in the dining hall. So don’t pretend this is a concern of yours.”
“I don’t like sentiment,” he said. “There’s a difference.”
Thaelyn let out a scoff. “That was not sentiment. You treated me with disregard and were outright rude. What’s it to you if I have a fun evening?”
“I can smell the wine you drank from here.”
“And, you’re not my instructor,” she said.
“No. But I know which bruises you can afford.” Thorne hesitated, then added quietly, “I’m not trying to be unkind.”
“You’re remarkably good at it when you do try,” she replied.
That earned the faintest shadow of a smile on his face. It was gone almost before she saw it. It was more disarming than anything he’d said.
“I don’t want a fight,” she said, voice softer now. “I want to train, pass what I must, and keep my footing. I won’t ask permission to breathe.”
“Good,” he said. “Then we agree.”
“Which isn’t code for me keeping my distance from Darian.”
His eyes darkened. “He’s not careful with what’s fragile.”
“I’m not fragile,” she barked with annoyance.
“You think fragility’s a sin,” he murmured. “It’s just a fact of the human body in motion. You can be precious and still shatter when thrown.”
“You should embroider that on a banner.”
“And hang it where you’ll ignore it,” he said dryly.
Two cadets passed behind him, laughing until they recognized him. They fell silent instantly, giving him a wide berth. When they were gone, he looked back at her, eyes steady.
“Don’t let him walk you into corners,” Thorne said. “Darian likes corners. They look like intimacy until the door shuts.”
“I’m not furniture to be arranged.”
“It would be easier if you were.”
The words hung between them, sharp and bare.
“What did the council want with you?” she asked before she could stop herself.
His gaze cooled. “To decide if I’m a leash or a dog.”
“Will you obey?”
“I’ll listen,” he said. “That’s close enough to obedience to make them think they have me.”
“Do they?”
“No.” The answer made something twist inside him, not approval exactly, but recognition. Thorne understood cages. Maybe he even despised them more than she did.
