The warehouse door groaned as Kai shoved it open, metal shrieking against rusted hinges. The air inside was damp, heavy with the scent of old wood, oil, and faint rot. Ezra stepped in cautiously, the sound of his boots echoing on concrete, each hollow step reminding him that he had no idea what waited for him in the dark.
Jace flicked his lighter, a small flame sputtering alive before catching on the edge of a discarded newspaper. He tossed it toward a steel barrel, and slowly a weak glow began to lick up the sides, shadows dancing like restless spirits across the walls.
Ezra glanced at Kai. "Why here?"
"Because fear is honest in places like this," Kai said. His voice carried easily in the cavernous room. "It clings. It has nowhere to hide."
Ezra folded his arms, trying to ground himself. "Or maybe you just like the theatrics."
Jace grinned from where he leaned against a support beam, smoke curling lazily from the cigarette dangling between his fingers. "He's catching on."
Kai ignored the jab. Instead, he dropped a small black case on an overturned crate. When he flipped it open, Ezra's breath caught. Inside lay two knives—slim, gleaming under the weak firelight. Not kitchen knives. Not crude weapons. These were deliberate, sharp, balanced. Tools for precision.
Ezra's stomach turned. "What the hell is this supposed to be?"
"Lesson two," Kai said calmly. "Control."
Ezra shook his head, stepping back. "No. I'm not playing at knife fights with you."
"You think it's a game?" Kai's eyes hardened, his tone sharp enough to cut without the blade. "Fear isn't just running from shadows or swallowing adrenaline. Fear is when you stand inches away from something that can break you… and you learn how not to flinch."
Jace's grin widened, hungry. "I'll go first."
Kai's gaze snapped to him. "No."
That single word cracked the air like a whip. Ezra noticed the faint twitch in Jace's jaw as he pushed off the beam, annoyed but silent. Kai picked up one of the knives, weighing it in his hand before holding the second out toward Ezra.
Ezra stared at it, the steel catching the firelight. His fingers itched to refuse, to shove it back into Kai's chest. But something in Kai's expression—not the danger, not the demand, but the strange, steady certainty—kept him frozen.
Slowly, Ezra reached out and took the knife.
It was heavier than he expected. Cold against his palm. He could hear his heartbeat drumming against his ribs, feel his throat tighten.
"Relax your grip," Kai instructed. He circled Ezra like a predator teaching its prey. "If you choke the handle, you'll lose speed. Keep it steady. Fluid. Breathe."
Ezra exhaled, loosening his hold, though every instinct screamed at him to drop the thing. "And what happens if I mess up?"
Kai stepped closer, so close Ezra could see the faint scar at his temple, the way his lashes caught the firelight. "Then you'll bleed. And you'll learn."
Before Ezra could process that, Kai lunged—not with the blade, but with his free hand. Ezra jerked back, the knife slipping dangerously close to his own arm. His pulse spiked, panic surging through him.
"Too slow," Kai said evenly, though his eyes flickered with something sharper—something that almost looked like pride.
Ezra's breath came fast, his chest rising and falling as the weight of what was happening sank in. This wasn't training in the safe sense. It wasn't drills. This was designed to force him past panic, to strip him bare in the raw space between blades.
Jace clapped mockingly from the sidelines. "At least he didn't drop it. Progress."
"Shut up," Ezra snapped, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and anger.
Kai struck again, this time with the knife—but angled so the flat of the blade skimmed Ezra's side. Ezra instinctively swung back, his movement clumsy, but fast enough that the sound of steel against steel rang through the warehouse. Sparks leapt where their knives met.
Ezra froze, staring at the locked blades, his arm trembling under the force of Kai's push.
"Better," Kai said quietly. "But you're still fighting me. You're supposed to fight yourself."
The words struck harder than the clash. Ezra's jaw tightened. "You don't get to talk like you know me."
Kai's expression didn't shift, but his voice lowered. "Then show me I'm wrong."
For a moment, the air between them was taut, vibrating with tension not just from the knives, but from everything unspoken. Ezra moved. Faster this time, sharper, driven less by fear and more by the raw need to not feel like prey. His blade darted out, nearly catching Kai's sleeve.
Kai leaned back effortlessly, a flicker of approval ghosting across his face.
The duel—or dance, or whatever it was—continued, the sound of steel ringing like a cruel metronome. Ezra's body burned with adrenaline, but with each exchange, he grew a fraction steadier. His grip adjusted. His breathing slowed. He wasn't perfect—Kai disarmed him twice, his knife skittering across the floor—but each time, Ezra retrieved it with a fiercer glare, refusing to quit.
Finally, Kai called it. He stepped back, lowering his blade. "Enough."
Ezra was panting, sweat beading at his temple, but his hands no longer shook. He stared at Kai, chest heaving, knife still raised even though the fight was done.
Kai tilted his head, his voice carrying that strange mix of command and quiet approval. "You're not fearless. That's good. Fear keeps you alive. But you didn't run from it. That's what matters."
Ezra's throat felt tight, his chest raw. He didn't know whether he wanted to scream at Kai or—something else.
Jace stubbed out his cigarette, slow-clapping again, though this time his grin didn't reach his eyes. "Cute. The professor's proud of his favorite student."
The words stung in ways Ezra didn't expect, but he shoved them down. He slid the knife onto the crate, refusing to give Jace the satisfaction of seeing him rattled.
Kai closed the case and snapped the lock shut. "We're done here for tonight."
As they left the warehouse, Ezra found himself walking beside Kai, their shoulders brushing briefly in the narrow exit. That single, fleeting contact sent a shiver racing down Ezra's spine—different from fear. Dangerous in another way entirely.
And for the first time, Ezra realized fear wasn't the only thing he was learning to follow.