I walk faster.
Back at my cabin, she shrugs out of her coat and looks around like she’s expecting the couch to still have my imprint on it.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asks, eyeing the couch.
“I slept.”
“That’s a lie.”
I gesture toward the open space near the fireplace. “Shoes off.”
Her brows knit. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to teach you a few things.”
“With… shoes off?” She looks suspicious. “Is this where you tell me you’re actually a yoga guy?”
“I’m not a yoga guy.”
“Everyone’s a yoga guy when they’re trapped in a mountain compound long enough.”
I ignore that too. “I’m teaching you self-defense.”
Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh my God. Like… actual self-defense?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth spreads into a grin. “This is so hot.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s both,” she says cheerfully, slipping off her boots. “Okay. Teach me, Sensei Grumpy.”
I grab two water bottles from the fridge and toss one to her. “First rule: you don’t call me Sensei.”
She catches it easily. “What about Master?”
I glare. And I don’t tell her how hearing her call me that makes my heart thud loudly in my chest.
She smiles innocently. “Kidding. Mostly.”
I step into the open space and motion her forward. “You said you had pepper spray.”
“Yep.”
“Good. That’s your first line. But if someone gets close enough that pepper spray isn’t an option, you need to know how to break contact.”
She lifts her hands like she’s about to box. “Like this?”
“That’s… adorable.” I circle her slowly. “But no. You’re not fighting fair. You’re fighting to live.”
Her expression shifts—serious now. Focused.
I nod once. “Good. Basic wrist escape.”
I reach for her wrist slowly, giving her time to react. “If someone grabs you like this?—”
She immediately yanks her hand back and slaps my forearm.
