His eyes flash. “Then stop making me have to.”
Thane yanks back suddenly as if he just touched a hot stove, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides. He doesn’t say another word—just turns and walks away, stalking toward Garrick and the others waiting at the edge of the field.
“Thane!” I shout after him, furious.
But he doesn’t even break his stride.
My lips press together—tight, trembling—because he is stillthe Warlord. And the men and women around us? They’re still his soldiers.
But by all the Elemental Gods—I want to tell him to fuck off.
I close my eyes. Breathe in the grit. The heat. The insult.
Then open them again, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
Valen steps forward, staff in hand, eyes on me. That too-knowing look on his face. The one that sees too much. He doesn’t speak for a long moment. Then, simply—
“Again.”
I barely have time to catch my breath before he lifts his staff, summoning more wraiths. Too many to track. Too fast to think.
I stumble back, blinking.
“Valen—”
His voice is calm. Unshaken.
“You want to ignore the fact that when you hesitate, he moves before you even think to? That when you get injured, he feels it? That when you get reckless, he comes undone?”
I suck in a breath. The wraiths advance.
Valen lifts his chin. “Then prove me wrong.”
I throw myself into the fight. Furious. Desperate. I strike, I weave, I wield. And then, one of them gets through. Not bad. Not deep. But it happens.
And across the field, Thane flinches.
He actually flinches.
He’s sparring with Garrick, their blades locked. But for half a second—he hesitates. His body reacts before his mind does. Before he evenseesthe wound.
And that’s when I know. When I finally—truly—see it.
I can’t pretend this bond isn’t real, that it doesn’t connect us in ways I can’t possibly understand or define. Because Thane isn’tseeingmy movements before they happen.
He’sfeelingthem. Through the bond.
Holy hell.
The training session ends.
The wraiths vanish.
The dust settles.
The bruises begin to bloom.
And I pretend.
