I spun on him again, fists clenched at my sides. “You think you know what’s best for me? You know nothing about me!”
He stared at me for a long, unreadable moment. “Then show me.”
“What?” I paused.
“Fight it out,” he said simply. “Let the anger burn through you.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “You don’t want that. It’s not safe to spar right now.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and a flicker of challenge danced across his face. “Challenge accepted.”
By the time we reached the old gym, I was already rolling my sleeves up past my elbows. I didn’t bother asking for wraps. I didn’t want protection.
Rowan stepped onto the mat without a word. The growl of the boiler next door made the floor vibrate faintly beneath my feet. Sweat already clung to the back of my neck, but this time it wasn’t just from the heat.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice low but steady.
“No,” I said. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
I swung at him before he could open his mouth again.
He ducked. Of course, he did.
I came at him again, harder this time—fist, elbow, knee. He deflected all of it as if I were swatting flies. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Rage and grief pumped through my limbs like fire, and I let it blaze.
Rowan blocked my fist, redirected my kick, twisted out of reach like smoke in the air.
“Don’t pity me,” I growled.
“I’m not.”
“Then stand still and let me hit you!”
“I’m not going toletyou do anything,” he said. “Earn it.”
I screamed—no words, just sound—and lunged again.
This time, I went right and swept low. He moved to counter, but I shifted faster, fueled by nothing but fury and spit. My fist collided with his ribs, hard. I heard the grunt before I even registered the contact.
Rowan stumbled back half a step, one hand pressing briefly to his side.
My breathing heaved in the thick air, and I stared at him, stunned.
He looked up at me, eyes sharp but not angry. “You’re getting stronger.”
“Why?” I asked quietly, the question falling from my lips before I could stop it. “Why are you doing this? Why help me?”
Rowan straightened slowly. The usual wall behind his eyes seemed thinner now, like something in him had shifted.
“There was someone,” he said, voice rougher than before. “A long time ago.”
He didn’t look at me when he spoke. He looked at the cracked floor like it held a memory.
“Someone who needed help. I failed, and they lost their life.”
He paused. Swallowed.
“And now I see them sometimes. In dreams. In reflections. In the faces of people.” His jaw clenched. “It doesn’t go away. That guilt.”
