Her jaw tightens. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
I step closer again, closing the space until I can reach her, until I can feel the shift in her breathing even before I touch her. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and I don’t miss it.
“Relax your stance,” I tell her.
“I am relaxed.”
“No, you’re not.”
She glares. “I’m standing.”
“Wrong.”
I reach for her, pausing for just half a second before I follow through, my hands settling on her hips. My grip is firm enough to guide her, not enough to trap her, but the contact still pulls a reaction from her, her breath catching just slightly.
There it is.
“Shift your weight,” I murmur.
Her hands hover uncertainly at her sides, like she doesn’t know what to do with them. “Ethan?—”
“Focus,” I cut in, adjusting her stance, angling her body slightly, grounding her where she needs to be.
She responds instinctively, her balance shifting under my hands.
Good.
“Feel that?” I ask.
She nods once, tight and controlled. “Yeah.”
“Less pressure on your front foot,” I continue, keeping my voice low. “You’re pushing into the ground like you’re about to run.”
“I might need to.”
“Not like this.”
I slide one hand lower, guiding her leg back just enough to correct her balance, and her breath stutters again, sharper this time.
“You hesitate like that,” I say, my voice dropping further, “you lose.”
Her head tilts slightly, her eyes lifting to meet mine. “You always this intense?”
I hold her gaze. “Only when it matters.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and charged in a way that has nothing to do with the forest around us. She swallows, then looks forward again, trying to regain control.
“And this matters?” she asks.
My grip tightens just slightly before I can stop it. “You do.”
The words land between us before I can pull them back, honest in a way I didn’t plan for.
She stills.
Then she mutters, quieter now, “Don’t say things like that.”
