From where I sat crumpled on the arena floor, I could see him differently—see the sharp lines of his jaw, the thick muscle coiled beneath his dark shirt, the way he seemed carved from stone and shadow. Imposing. Unshakable. The kind of strength born not just of training, but of something else. Something unbreakable.
Still, he said nothing.
I wondered if he even cared that I was hurt. That I’d failed.
But then, finally, he stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
He crouched beside me, eyes unreadable.
“You’re stronger than this,” he said, low and quiet. Not kind. Not soft. But something in his tone flickered—like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t saying it for the crowd still watching from the edges.
I stared at him, stunned.
Then he stood again, turning his back to me. “Get up or stay down. Just don’t waste my time.”
The words hit like a slap. But somehow, they worked better than kindness ever could have.
Gritting my teeth, I planted my hands beneath me and shoved myself upright again. Shaky. Wobbling. But standing.
Barely.
From the other side of the arena, the shifter cracked his knuckles, smirking. “Round two?”
I shook my limbs and clicked my knuckles.
Go hard, or go home right?
Three rounds later I was a bruised puddle on the ground. Around me, the other trainees smirked at my weakness. Pike, my shifter opponent looked very proud of himself as he waited for my next move.
I could barely raise my arms.
I want to go home.
Slade raised a hand, halting him.
“She’s done,” he said flatly.
The murmur around us rose again. Pike rolled his eyes but stepped away.
Slade pulled me to my feet. My whole body ached.
He poked me in the ribs and I winced. “What the fuck, grumpy bear?” I groaned.
“You’re too skinny. You need to eat.”
“Well, duh.” I grumbled. “Food wasn’t exactly readily available on the streets.”
“Meat and carbs. Tonight. Understood?” Slade growled. “Fill your plate.”
“Yes sir,” I sneered, holding my gut. He gave a small sound of approval.
“Tomorrow we work on resilience.”
I sent him an uncertain look. “And what does that mean?”
He gave me a rare grin. “Twenty laps.”
**
