Her little entourage giggles as if it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all week. I roll my eyes and turn right into the solid presence of Mr. Sato.
“Miss Rey. A word. ”
Ugh, perfect. Stepping off the mat, I follow him like I’m being called into the principal’s office.
“Yes, sir.”
“Call me Sensei.”
“Yes, Sensei.” I correct myself quickly.
“Good.” His gaze sharpens, pinning me, curious, as if I’m some half-finished riddle he’s trying to solve. “You’ve shown real potential. But your endurance is weak. Your precision? Sloppy. And you’re too slow at reading your opponent.”
Ouch. I swallow back the eye roll and go with, “Seems like it,” then catch the flicker of disapproval in his eyes. And quickly add, “Sensei.”
He nods in approval. “You’ll train with Nalaka. When she becomes easy to beat, at her full potential. You’ll move to field training. And when you’ll find your calling, you’ll train with me.” The way he says it, it’s not a suggestion. It’s a promise, as if he knows something I don’t.
“My calling?” I ask, arching a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That’s for you to discover. Now go. Rest.” His tone ends the conversation before I can even think about pushing back.
As I leave the training room, limbs aching and ego bruised, one thought clings to me. The Satos are so weird. Sharp edges wrapped in mystery, but somehow, I trust them, even if their methods feel ominous.
20
Avilyna
CAUGHT OFF GUARD
My feet carryme toward the Healers’ quarters. Finding my dad’s room is laughably easy, same as yesterday, same as the day before that or the other ones. Even while grief overwhelms my senses, my body remembers where to go. I step in, sit by the bed, and…nothing.
No change.
He’s still asleep, still breathing. The slow, steady rhythm of it is the only thing keeping me from completely unravelling. I stay beside him for a few seconds before the silence starts to crawl under my skin. Shooting to my feet, I suddenly have too much energy and nowhere to put it.
Answers.
I need answers.
Or distractions.
Or both.
That’s when I seeher.
Aunt Ruby, only she’s not sitting in her wheelchair.
She’s standing onfourlegs. My brain goes blank for a second before my mouth does the stupid thing it always does.
“You’re a fuckingcentaur!”
It comes out too loud, too blunt, like I’ve forgotten how to talk to the people I love. Even the ones who lied to me. Her head turns toward me slowly, like she’s used to the reaction. But when our eyes meet, everything inside me just… calms. Her face, familiar, full of quiet love.
It hasn’t changed, not really.
That’s still my aunt. Still, the woman who made pancakes shaped like animals on Sunday mornings, adding a little twist to dad’s tradition, and let me crawl into her bed when I had nightmares. She’s just… a little moremagicalnow.
And somehow, that tracks.
