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I'd been watching Akane all evening.
The courtyard was dim except for the warm glow of lantern light spilling across the stone tiles, catching the sheen of sweat on her skin. She moved like a predator—silent but certain, every step calculated, every swing of her blade crisp and clean. There was no wasted motion.
Even her hair, tied up loosely, swayed in perfect rhythm with her strikes, and every now and then a single rebellious strand would slip free, clinging to her cheek. She'd brush it back with a quick flick of her wrist, completely unaware of how my eyes followed the movement every single time.
How did Ren have this in front of him and still act like a half-distracted fool? Pathetic.
