Cager didn't raise her voice.
That was how everyone knew something was wrong.
"Vale," she said, sharp and clean, cutting through the noise.
The room stilled. Conversations died mid-word. Someone near the wall straightened like they'd been struck.
She never used names.
I stepped forward before I realized I was moving.
"Closer," she added.
Not louder. Not harsher. Just… closer.
I stopped a foot away from her. Too close by everyone else's standards. Close enough that I could feel the heat she carried like a constant threat.
"You're standing wrong," she said.
"I—"
She reached out and adjusted my stance herself. Two fingers at my elbow. A press at my shoulder. Clinical. Efficient.
My breath hitched anyway.
"Again," she said.
I corrected it.
Her gaze lingered, slow, assessing. Not on my body—on my control. Or lack of it.
"Better," she murmured.
Someone scoffed behind us. Quiet. Disrespectful.
Cager didn't look away from me when she spoke.
"Say it again," she said calmly.
Silence.
The scoffer didn't repeat himself.
Cager stepped back then, finally giving me space—but it felt like losing something.
"You learn fast," she said. "Don't waste it."
She turned away as if dismissing me.
But as she passed, her voice dropped just enough for only me to hear.
"And don't confuse my patience for softness, Vale."
My pulse didn't slow until she was gone.
And that was when I realized something dangerous.
I didn't want her to stop watching.