Late February – Markov Estate
The Yard of Steel
It was still dark when Jay stepped into the training yard.
The estate lights hadn't fully powered on, and the air held a crispness that clung to his breath. The stone floor beneath his boots was damp with morning condensation, a thin mist coiling low across the gravel. Torches flickered in the wall sconces, but even their flames seemed reluctant to move.
Mikhail stood at the center of the yard like a statue. Broad. Silent. Immoveable.
"You're late," he said.
"I'm on time."
"Late in mindset."
Jay didn't argue. He walked to the weapons rack and picked up a training sword. It was heavier than the ones they used at school. This one didn't just sting—it bruised. Markov bruises were silent contracts. No one complained. No one questioned.
Mikhail didn't offer a warmup. He never did.
"Stance."
Jay stepped into position.
The first strike came fast. A high sweep meant to test reflexes. Jay blocked it, barely. The vibration travelled through his wrists.
"Too stiff," Mikhail said.
Another swing. Lower. Jay dodged, pivoted, and countered. Mikhail knocked his blade aside with a flick of the wrist.
"You move like you're thinking about a girl," Mikhail said. "Focus."
Jay didn't rise to the bait. He let the silence answer for him.
The session stretched past twenty minutes. Jay's shoulder burned. His knuckles split open near the end. He didn't ask for water. Didn't stop to breathe. That would be admitting weakness.
"Again."
Mikhail lunged. Jay blocked, sidestepped, twisted.
Then pain. A strike landed square in his ribs. The world blurred briefly.
"You're still holding back," Mikhail growled.
Jay groaned and dropped to one knee. "I'm holding on."
"Not the same thing."
Jay stood again. Wiped blood from his lip. "Thanks for the poetry."
They kept going.
It wasn't about winning.
It was about surviving.
Ghosts of the Garden Wall
After training, Jay wandered behind the east wing, where the rose hedges stretched tall and thick like natural barricades. He often came here after the worst sessions—too bruised to return to his wing immediately, too proud to admit it.
He stood beside the stone fountain, its waters slow and murky, and watched the fish circle lazily beneath.
For a brief moment, he imagined himself sitting on the school rooftop again. Tyler laughing beside him. Emma rolling her eyes. Amaya quietly handing him water. Sofia with her stupid little smirk.
He hadn't realized how much noise there used to be.
The silence here was so clean it hurt.
He heard footsteps.
Theo.
Running. Again.
"Jay! Jay! —Sir—Sorry—Jay-sir—I brought the emergency protocol package!"
Jay didn't flinch this time. He turned as the tray wobbled in Theo's grip.
"Lemon cake?"
"Double layer."
Theo held up a plate stacked with suspiciously fluffy pastries and a towel still warm from the kitchen.
"And the first-aid towel. Marin said I could borrow it."
Jay arched an eyebrow. "Before or after you ran off with it?"
Theo hesitated. "That's... subject to interpretation."
Jay sat on the fountain's edge. Took the towel. Bit into the cake.
"You know," Theo said, sitting beside him, "if they ever let me duel Mikhail, I'd win."
"Out of pity?"
"Out of style."
Jay shook his head. "You'd die in three seconds."
"Worth it."
They sat in silence for a bit.
Theo cleared his throat. "You ever think about just... walking out?"
Jay's gaze drifted to the horizon. "All the time."
"So why don't you?"
Jay turned his head. "Because people like you would come looking."
Theo laughed. "Damn right."
They finished the cake.
And for a while, Jay didn't feel like he was bleeding inside.
III. The Lady with the Bandages
Marin was waiting just outside his room. Arms crossed. Expression unimpressed.
"Let me guess," she said. "Mikhail tried to break you again?"
"Closer to cracking. Not quite broken."
She stepped aside to let him in. "Shirt off. Sit down. Don't argue."
Jay obeyed. He always did when Marin used that voice—the one halfway between a mother and a military nurse.
She applied antiseptic with all the grace of someone who had done this a thousand times.
"Ow."
"Oh, did that hurt? Let me fetch the world's smallest violin."
Jay winced. "Where do you keep all these comebacks?"
"In the same drawer I hide your childhood drawings. Remember the one where you made yourself emperor of a chocolate castle?"
"Do not bring the chocolate throne into this."
Marin smiled faintly as she wrapped gauze around his side. "Jay?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't lose yourself just trying to survive him."
He didn't answer. But he didn't look away, either.
"You used to laugh more," she added softly.
"I used to know who I was."
She patted his shoulder gently. "You still do. You're just too tired to remember."
She cleaned up the supplies and left without another word.
Jay sat there for a long while, the late morning light spilling across the floor.
His wounds were covered.
But not all of them were healing.
He reached over, grabbed his sketchbook, and drew a line.
Just one.
It was crooked.
But it was a start.