It’s small.
But it’s the first time?—
Maltos corrects.
“Better,” I murmur, my pulse kicking harder now, not from fear, but from the shift.
Maltos notices.
Of course he does.
His gaze flicks briefly toward me this time, just a fraction, just enough to acknowledge the variable.
“External influence,” he says.
Verr doesn’t respond.
Good.
He moves again.
And this time?—
He’s first.
Not fast.
Not reckless.
But intentional.
The strike comes in low, not aimed to land, but to draw response, to force Maltos to react instead of dictate.
Maltos does.
Barely.
But he does.
And that?—
That’s new.
The rhythm changes.
Not dramatically.
Not yet.
But enough.
Steel meets again, but now the exchanges aren’t one-sided. Verr isn’t just holding ground—he’s shaping it, pulling Maltos into angles he didn’t choose, forcing adjustments instead of making them.
“Good,” I whisper. “Stay there. Stay there.”
Maltos presses harder in response, the next sequence faster, tighter, trying to reassert control before it slips further, but Verr doesn’t fall back into it this time.
He gives ground?—
