The clash of steel on steel rang through the training grounds. Sirah moved like water, despite her massive size, flowing around Raven's strikes with her stump behind her back.
Melisa shifted on the bench, trying not to notice how Sirah's muscles flexed with each movement. How sweat made her training clothes cling in ways that—
[Stop. Looking.]
Sirah's eyes flicked to her. Just for a second. A knowing smirk tugged at her lips.
Melisa's face burned.
"So." Margaret settled beside her, voice carefully neutral. "Let me get this straight. You're letting the woman who kidnapped you train you in swordfighting?"
"Yep."
"The same woman who held you captive?"
"That's her."
"And you think this is a good idea?"
Melisa watched Sirah duck under Raven's blade, her remaining hand snaking out to tap Raven's ribs. Point to Sirah.
"Probably not."
Margaret was quiet for a moment. Then:
"But you're doing it anyway."
"I need to get stronger, Mom. She's one of the best fighters I've seen."
