The air on the training ground shimmered faintly with heat. It was one of those mornings when focus demanded more than strength — when discipline was tested not by drills, but by control.
The cadets were already deep into their fighting sessions, their movements sharper, faster than in the early days of training. The dull thud of fists against mats and the rhythm of boots shifting across the floor filled the air. Every day, the exercises grew tougher, pushing them closer to their limits.
At the centre, Officer Ethan's voice carried clear and steady. "Remember, fighting is not rage. It's rhythm. Balance. You fight with the body — but you win with the mind."
He moved with effortless grace, demonstrating the stance again — his steps precise, his form unyielding. "Feet firm, shoulders aligned. Keep breathing through every motion."
His eyes swept across the cadets. "Bella," he called.
Every head turned for a moment before quickly returning to their drills. Bella stepped forward, feeling a rush of adrenaline as she faced him.
"Today," Ethan said, "you'll spar with me."
She nodded silently.
Ethan took his position, his body calm but alert. "We start simple," he said. "Attack."
Bella mirrored his stance — knees bent, fists raised. The first strike was hesitant, more calculated than powerful. Ethan blocked easily, his hand brushing against hers as he redirected her motion. "Don't hold back," he murmured, eyes fixed on her. "Trust your instincts."
She struck again — faster this time. He countered, stepping closer. Their distance shrank until she could hear his breathing — slow, steady, unnervingly calm.
Ethan's hand caught her wrist mid-attack, his grip firm but not harsh. "Good," he said softly, almost under his breath. "But your balance is too high." He shifted closer, placing one hand lightly on her waist, guiding her stance lower. "Here. Feel the center of gravity. That's where your power begins."
Bella's breath caught — not from exhaustion, but from the nearness of him. His voice was low, his tone disciplined, yet there was something unspoken between his words — something neither dared acknowledge.
"Now again," Ethan said, stepping back but keeping his eyes on her.
She attacked — a quick jab followed by a spin-kick. He dodged the first but caught her by the wrist before the second could land. The sudden motion pulled her forward — and she stumbled, colliding into him.
For a moment, neither moved. His hands steadied her by the shoulders; her heartbeat thundered between them. The scent of dust, sweat, and something warmer filled the air.
Ethan cleared his throat softly, his voice low. "You're improving," he said, releasing her slowly.
Bella looked down, trying to hide the flush on her cheeks.
Bella could still feel the faint warmth of his hands against her skin. Around her, the clatter and shouts of sparring cadets filled the field — yet her mind was somewhere else, caught between discipline and a feeling she didn't dare name.