Footsteps followed.
Each step echoing against the stone with deliberate precision.
By the time he rounded the corner, the knives were already gone.
Vanished back into pockets with practiced speed.
Bodies straightened. Postures shifted.
Shoulders tightened.
Their faces—once confident—drained of color.
Their eyes flicked toward the open field.
Calculating.
Measuring distance. Weighing escape routes.
Ciro came to a stop a few steps away.
Hands relaxed at his sides.
His hazel eyes swept the scene in one slow, precise arc.
The two of them.
The hidden tension.
The small woman pressed half behind me, eyes wide, heart racing.
Silence stretched.
Then I moved.
Stepping out of their shadow.
Pulling the small woman with me.
“All good here,” I said, shrugging slightly. “Just a little chat, that’s all.”
The lie was smooth.
Because in this academy—survival often meant knowing which battles to fight and which to let slide.
I’d deal with Enzo and his short friend later.
But Ciro didn’t need to know they were trying to bully her.
Ciro’s gaze flicked briefly to me.
Then back to them.
He stepped aside. Not intervening.
But not leaving either.
I didn’t look back at Enzo.
