Nyra did not leave her room.
Not in the morning. Not when the sun rose high enough to spill through the windows and paint the walls in warm light. Not when a tray of breakfast was brought in and left untouched on the small table by the door. Not even when time dragged slowly toward noon, each passing hour stretching longer than the last.
She stayed exactly where she was.
Still. Restless. Trapped.
By the time lunch arrived, her patience had worn thin.
The second tray sat beside the first, barely touched, the scent of food doing nothing to ease the irritation simmering beneath her skin. Maya would have been there—she had said so herself—but she was at school, leaving Nyra alone with nothing but her thoughts.
And that was the problem.
There was too much silence.
Too much time.
Too many thoughts she didn't want to entertain.
Especially the ones that kept circling back to him.
Nyra exhaled sharply and pushed herself off the bed, her movements abrupt as frustration finally tipped into action. If they were going to keep her here, the least they could do was give her something to do.
She didn't knock when she reached Kael's office. She walked in. Without waiting for permission, she crossed the room and dropped onto the couch with a heavy, exaggerated motion.
"I'm bored," she said.
Kael didn't look up.
He remained seated behind his desk, eyes fixed on the document in front of him, his expression unchanged as if she hadn't spoken at all.
Nyra frowned.
"I said," she repeated, her tone sharper this time, "I'm bored."
Still nothing.
Her irritation flared instantly.
"I'm not your babysitter," Kael said finally, his voice calm but edged with warning. "So don't give me that attitude."
Nyra let out a short, humourless laugh as she leaned back against the couch. "Well, you kept me here against my will," she replied, tilting her head slightly as her lips curved into a smirk. "That kind of makes you my babysitter."
His pen paused briefly against the paper.
Nyra's smirk deepened. "Or," she continued casually, "I could try escaping again. That might be more entertaining. We could turn it into a game."
That got his attention.
Kael looked up.
His gaze met hers, steady and unreadable, but there was something beneath it now—something sharper.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Nyra straightened slightly, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch as she considered him. "Is there nowhere to spar?" she asked. "Or do your guards and warriors just sit around looking intimidating all day?"
A brief silence followed.
Then Kael stood.
The training ground was larger than Nyra expected.
Open. Structured. Alive with movement.
Men filled the space—warriors, guards, fighters—each engaged in drills, sparring, or training routines that spoke of discipline and strength. The moment Nyra stepped onto the field beside Kael, the atmosphere shifted.
Attention turned. Eyes followed. Judgment settled. She felt it immediately. They didn't take her seriously. Of course they didn't. Nyra's gaze moved across them slowly, unimpressed. She had seen this before—the dismissive looks, the quiet assumptions, the unspoken belief that she didn't belong in a place like this.
It didn't bother her.
It annoyed her.
"Pick someone," she said.
A few of the men exchanged glances, some amused, others skeptical. None stepped forward.
Kael didn't hesitate. He gestured toward one of them—a broad-shouldered warrior standing near the centre of the field.
The man let out a quiet scoff before stepping forward, his expression already carrying a hint of condescension.
"You might want to shift," he said, rolling his shoulders slightly as if preparing for something easy. "It'll make this less embarrassing for you."
Nyra didn't react to the tone.
"I can't shift," she said simply.
There was a pause. Then, a few quiet chuckles spread through the watching crowd. Nyra stepped forward, ignoring them completely, and settled into a fighting stance. Her movements were smooth, controlled, precise. Then she lifted her hand.
And beckoned him forward with a single finger.
The reaction was instant.
The man's expression darkened, and pride clearly struck as irritation replaced amusement. Without another word, he lunged forward, his attack fast and forceful, driven by the need to prove a point.
Nyra met him head-on.
The impact of their first clash echoed across the field, drawing immediate attention. She moved quickly, her body adapting to his rhythm, her reactions sharp and calculated. Every strike she blocked, every movement she made, was deliberate.
At first, he underestimated her.
That was his first mistake.
His attacks grew more aggressive and less controlled as frustration crept in. Nyra saw it immediately—the shift in his balance, the openings in his defence.
She took advantage.
Her movements became sharper, faster, her strikes landing with increasing precision. The crowd grew quieter as realization began to spread.She wasn't just holding her own.She was winning.The man staggered back slightly, his breathing heavier now, his expression shifting from confidence to disbelief. He hadn't expected this.
Nyra didn't give him time to recover.
She moved in, swift and decisive, and within moments, she had him on the ground.
Defeated.
Silence fell.
For a brief second, no one moved.
Nyra stepped back, her breathing steady, her expression unchanged as if the outcome had been obvious from the start.
It should have ended there.
It didn't.
The man's pride wouldn't allow it.
Before anyone could react, he pushed himself up and lunged again—this time from behind, his attack fueled not by skill, but by anger. Nyra sensed it. She turned sharply, dodging the blow with ease—but something in her snapped.
Something deeper. Something darker. Her wolf stirred. Not fully. Not visibly. But enough. A surge of something raw and powerful coursed through her, sudden and uncontrollable. It burned through her veins, sharpened her senses, and strengthened her body in a way that felt both familiar and dangerous.
Her movements changed. Faster. Stronger. Unforgiving. The man didn't stand a chance. Nyra's next strike sent him crashing to the ground with a force that silenced the entire training field. She didn't stop. Another hit. Then another. Each one was heavier than the last, each one driven by something she wasn't fully controlling anymore.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Someone shouted, but Nyra barely heard it. Her focus had narrowed completely, her vision sharpening as that unfamiliar power surged again, demanding more. The man beneath her stopped fighting back. It didn't matter. She raised her hand again
"Nyra."
Kael's voice cut through everything.
Sharp. Commanding.Final.
Her body froze mid-motion.
The world rushed back in all at once—the noise, the tension, the weight of what she was doing. Nyra's breath came slightly faster now as she looked down at the man beneath her, his condition far worse than it should have been.
Too much. That had been too much. Slowly, she stepped back. Silence gripped the training ground. No one spoke. No one moved. Every gaze was fixed on her now—not with amusement, not with dismissal but with something else.
Something heavier. Something dangerous.
Nyra lifted her head slightly, her expression hardening again as she forced control back into place. She wouldn't let them see it. Wouldn't let them understand, but it was too late.
Kael was already watching her, not with surprise, not with confusion, but with something far more unsettling.
And just as Nyra realized that a low, unfamiliar growl echoed faintly beneath the silence, not from the warriors, not from the man on the ground.
From her.
Nyra stilled, her eyes widened slightly, just for a fraction of a second.
Because that, that hadn't been her.