One afternoon, after I landed flat on my back for what felt like the tenth time, I groaned and rolled onto my side, panting. "Maybe I'm just not built for this," I muttered, voice tight with exhaustion.
Don offered me his hand, and I hesitated—but took it.
"You're learning," he said gently, helping me up. "You fall less than you did last week. And you're thinking faster."
"You sure you're not just being nice?"
"I'm not nice," he smirked. "I'm honest. And if you were hopeless, I wouldn't be wasting my time."
That made me smile, even if I tried not to show it.
We went again. This time, I kept my stance solid and remembered to pivot instead of lurch. We circled, sticks raised. And when I managed to block one of his strikes and spin out of reach, he paused—a genuine surprise in his eyes.
"Well, well," he said, voice lower than usual. "Who taught you that?"
"Maybe I'm not so hopeless after all," I said, heart racing—but not from the fight.
We both stepped back, breathing heavily. His hair was damp with sweat, a strand falling across his forehead. He looked at me differently then—not just as someone he was training, but like he was really seeing me. And I felt it. Felt something shift between us.
I dropped my gaze, suddenly flustered. "We should go again."
He smiled—soft this time. "Whenever you're ready."
Though, I kept hoping I'd discover some hidden power, some secret ability waiting to awaken—but it never came. So I poured everything into combat.
And since I had permission to check on Cris anytime, I used that as my excuse. After each visit, I'd sneak off to find Liam.
My bond with him kept growing stronger. As for me and Don, we were getting closer without even realizing it. Almost six months flew by in a blink, and still, we didn't see how much we were starting to mean to each other.
"I never imagined you could fight like that!" I said, grinning as we faced each other, sticks in hand.
I attacked again and again, but he dodged with infuriating ease.
"You're getting better yourself," he said, then winked—just that wink made my breath hitch.
The next second, my back was flush against his chest, his stick grazing my throat, arms tightening around me.
"Gotcha," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear, and it lit a trail of goosebumps down my spine.
I was breathless. I tried to pull away, to look anywhere else—but my eyes locked with his. Those golden eyes were glowing, and they weren't just glowing—they were burning through me.
I wanted to drown in them. My heart thundered. The stick slid from my fingers as his hand brushed down my arm—slow, deliberate—until it found mine.
Heat unfurled inside me, a slow ache curling in my stomach. For a second, I forgot where I was. But then I caught the flicker in his gaze—he thought I was going to kiss him.
I smirked, leaned in so close our lips almost touched—and slammed my elbow into his underarm, twisted his arm, and threw him to the ground.
Then I winked.
"That was cheating," he murmured—not mad, just watching me like I'd just become his favorite mystery.
His eyes clung to mine, and I could feel the blush creeping up my neck.
I bolted to the bench, grabbed my jacket, and threw it on like armor. My pulse was still racing. Even with my back to him, I could feel his eyes trailing over me.
"I need to check on Cris," I blurted, not trusting myself to turn around. I slipped out and headed straight to my room.
The second I shut the door, I collapsed onto my bed, face buried in the pillow, breath caught somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
I'd never felt so flushed—so stupidly shy.
Everyone outside was caught in their own chatter, but it felt like the whole hallway had seen it. My hands were on fire. So was my face. And I couldn't stop smiling like a complete idiot.
I knew I was in love. But I wasn't ready to say it—not even to myself out loud. Being around him made me happy. I loved watching him read, train, just exist. And I'd felt that way from the start.
Now, I was starting to see it reflected back. A few times in the library, I caught him looking at me—and he'd look away, flustered, every single time. It was the kind of feeling that didn't need a name, but if I had to put it into words:
"I like everything he does. Especially the way he looks at me."
I blushed, sitting cross-legged on Cris's bed, still smiling.
"I'm so happy for you!" Cris had actual tears in her eyes—tears of joy. She's always been this way: emotional, tender, and full of heart.
She wrapped me in a hug and patted my back.
"What were you going to say?" I asked. She had called me earlier to talk, but I spoke first.
"It's been six months!" she said excitedly.
"I know, right? And still no sign of the Sheriff or my aunt," I added.
"Exactly! That's what I was going to say. There's been no battle, and I haven't had any visions either. So maybe… maybe it was all just a dream? But you're right—we should talk to Mrs. Leonardo about your aunt and the Sheriff."
She stood up, and instead of putting it off, we decided to go see Mrs. Leonardo right then.
She opened the door after we knocked twice.
"What are you girls doing here at this hour?" she asked with a warm smile.
"It's not past curfew," I said, glancing at the clock.
"Of course not," she replied, then offered us some herbal tea.
"What's your aunt's name again?" she asked while giving instructions to someone over the phone.
"Lisa. Her name is Lisa," I answered.
Once the call ended, she looked back at me, puzzled. "I've never heard of any Lisa."
"I was nine when we moved in with her. I'm not sure how my parents knew her, but she was always close to us." I felt a hint of longing.
"Don't worry. I've asked my scouts to look for your aunt. She'll be fine," she said, gently holding my hand.