I feel a presence and open my eyes. Thane stands above me, watching.
The light from the high windows spills around him, framing him in gold, turning him into something more shadow than man. Sunlight glints off the sweat on his arms, the sharp lines of his Fire Wielder tattoo, the slow rise and fall of his chest—composed, controlled. Nothing like the storm still breaking inside me.
He smiles and extends a hand. I hesitate for half a second before taking it.
Our palms connect—and he pulls harder than I expect. Before I can brace myself, I’m yanked upright—straight into him. I stumble, colliding against his chest, my breath catching from the force of it. The scent of leather, steel, and fire fills my nose, the heat of him solid, unyielding, too close.
Not close enough.
I inhale sharply, my free hand instinctively catching onto his forearm for balance. And then I see it for the first time.
Gold flecks in his gray eyes. Subtle. Catching the light like embers in a storm.
They hold me there, just for a breath—long enough to make me forget how hard I fought to stay on my feet.
Then—just like that—his gaze sharpens and the moment slips. He lets go.
The space resets, but my pulse doesn’t.
“Take a minute for some water,” he says, voice steady, calm. A stark contrast to the burn still coiled beneath my skin.
I wipe sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist, rolling my neck as I walk toward the water jug at the edge of the sparring mats. Across the room, warriors continue—sparring, lifting—but I feel more than a few glances land on us.
I take a few deep gulps before setting the jug down, flexing my fingers, rolling out my wrists. My arms ache, my ribs still tight from the last hit. A gift from Thane I plan to return.
When I turn back, he’s still watching. Patient. Unmoving. His gaze lingers—a fraction longer than usual.
I roll my shoulders, pushing the thought aside. It doesn’t matter. He probably thinks I need to be faster.
Fine. I’ll show him faster.
I step onto the mat, gripping my knife tighter.
We circle—boots whispering on the mats. Slow. Controlled. The world narrows to this: Thane, me, and the space between us.
I close the gap in an instant, knife flashing, feinting left before twisting into a brutal downward strike toward his ribs.
Thane blocks—barely. His blade clashes with mine, arm twisting to redirect the strike—but I don’t let him. I shift before he can force me back, my foot snapping toward his knee, my elbow driving toward his ribs.
He dodges the first. But the second—I feel it land. A sharp exhale. A flicker of surprise in his eyes.
It fuels me.
I slash, spin, kick, strike—relentless, giving him no chance to reset. I duck under his arm, carve my blade toward his exposedside, slam my foot toward his thigh.
For a moment, I think I have him. Then—he adjusts. Effortless. Precise.
He twists with the momentum of my strike before I can shift. His knife knocks mine aside, the impact rattling up my arm. Then—his fist slams into my stomach. A sharp, crushing blow.
The enchantments pulse, dulling the worst of it—but not enough. The force still knocks the breath from my lungs, a jolt of pain rippling through my ribs.
Not enough to drop me. But enough to remind me how easily he could.
I barely block the next strike—but it leaves me open. Before I can reset, he’s already inside my guard. A knee slams into my ribs—brutal, blinding. The enchantments pulse—just enough to keep bone from breaking. Not enough to stop the pain.
I stumble back, breath hitching, barely deflecting the next attack. The impact shoots up my arm—sharp, numbing. Then, before I can adjust, he sweeps my legs out from under me.
The world tilts—then I hit the mat. Hard. Air gone. Pain flaring across my back.
