Page 103 of Iron Beneath the Snow

He should have continued past the circle.

Instead, he slowed.

Not because the training required his attention. Not because Eira’s form demanded correction.

The decision came before he fully examined it.

For a moment, it seemed he would pass.

Then he stepped in.

Without warning.

His blade met the spear shaft before the thought could fully form.

Eira’s hands reacted first, instinct catching the strike and redirecting it rather than resisting. The impact traveled through her arms, sharp but controlled, forcing her to adjust her footing half a step back before she stabilized.

Soren did not pause.

He pressed forward immediately, testing her balance again, not with force, but with precision—each movement designed to measure rather than overpower.

“You draw attention,” he said, as if the words were simply part of the exchange.

Eira angled the shaft of the spear, letting his blade slide past instead of catching it directly.

“So do you,” she replied, her breath steady despite the shift in tempo.

“That is not the same.”

He shifted closer, closing distance where the spear became less effective, forcing her to pivot rather than strike.

“It rarely is,” she said, turning with him, refusing to give ground entirely.

Another movement—faster this time.

She caught it, but not cleanly, the vibration running through her grip before she corrected it.

“You changed the way they look at you,” he continued.

Eira adjusted her stance, then pushed back, not to break his pressure, but to create space.

“They were already looking.”

“Not like that.”

He stepped in again, blade angling toward her shoulder—not a strike meant to land, but one that demanded a decision.

She met it, redirecting, then shifting her weight forward just enough to interrupt his line.

“And what is it you think they see?” she asked.

“Possibility,” he said.

She held his gaze for a fraction longer than the movement required.

“And that concerns you?”

He did not answer immediately.