- Lucien Draven:
It's been two weeks since we started training Elara.
Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of avoiding unnecessary conversation. Two weeks of watching without acting.
She's improving. She moves with more confidence now, her stance stronger, her balance sharper. The first time she managed to land a hit on Ronan, she beamed with pride, her whole face lighting up.
And I—
I felt something twist in my chest.
She doesn't look at me like I'm a monster. Not once, not ever. She smiles at me like I'm just—me. Like she sees something worth saving, worth believing in.
And Ronan?
Ronan has never looked at me like anything but an enemy.
His hatred is as steady as the moon's rise, unwavering, constant. He tolerates me because he has to, because of Elara. But I see it—the way his jaw clenches when I enter a room, the flicker of distrust in his eyes whenever I get too close to her.
He thinks I want her.
And he's right.
