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Rhyven slowly turns his head. "You bet on me."

"I bet on you."

"You volunteered me because you put money on me."

"It seemed efficient."

For one long second Rhyven simply stares at him. Then he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "You're paying for my drinks for a month." And steps into the pit.

The cheering becomes deafening. Beside me, Rowan nudges my shoulder with a grin.

"Told you." She says.

"What?"

She watches Rhyven crack his neck once before facing his opponent. "Nobody bets against Corvell."

The cheering doesn't fade. If anything, it grows louder. Students stomp their boots against the wooden platforms surrounding the pit until the entire cavern seems to vibrate beneath our feet.

Across from Rhyven, the fourth-year rolls his shoulders again. He is tall. Broad. A wolf. Not quite as tall and large as Rhyven. I don't even think it is possible. But he smiles with the confidence of someone who enjoys performing for a crowd.

Rhyven simply looks tired. "I was eating." he says to Dax without taking his eyes off his opponent. Laughter ripples through the crowd.

The wolf across from him grins. "You always complain this much?"

Rhyven finally looks at him. "Only when people interrupt dinner."

The referee—a retired dragon rider everyone simply calls Nyx—steps between them. "The rules haven't changed." His voice carries effortlessly through the tavern. "No powers. No weapons. No intent to permanently injure." He looks from one fighter to the other. "You know when to stop." Both men nod. Nyx steps away. "Begin."

The wolf attacks immediately. Exactly as everyone expected. Fast. Explosive. A straight punch aimed toward Rhyven's jaw. Rhyven isn't there anymore. He has already moved. Not dramatically. Barely a step. The punch cuts through empty air. The crowd cheers anyway. The wolf turns. Attacks again. Left hook. Elbow. Low kick. Rhyven avoids each one with almost insulting efficiency. No wasted movement. No acrobatics. Just...Not being where the strike lands. Beside me, Nyra frowns. "Is he going to fight?"

Cassian smiles without looking away from the pit. "He is."

"I don't understand." Nyra frowns.

"Watch his feet."

I do. Only then do I notice. Rhyven isn't retreating. He's guiding. Each small movement forces the wolf to adjust his footing. Closer to one side of the pit. Closer. Closer. Without realizing it... The wolf is exactly where Rhyven wants him. Three exchanges later— The wolf lunges again. This time, Rhyven finally raises his hands. Not to strike. To redirect. One hand catches the wolf's forearm. The other presses lightly against his shoulder. The movement is so small I almost miss it. The wolf's own momentum does the rest. He stumbles past Rhyven. Loses his balance. Recovers. The crowd erupts anyway.

"That's all?" Rowan says beside me. "He barely touched him."

"Exactly." Cassian answers.

The wolf laughs. "You're annoying."

"I've been informed." Rhyven answers casually.

"You planning to hit me eventually?" The wolf asks.

"If necessary."

Again. The wolf attacks. Again. Rhyven waits. Observes. Moves. Never first. Always second. Always correct. Something clicks in my mind. Sky Wing. Observe. Don't rush. Don't assume. He's fighting exactly the way he teaches.

"He already knows how this ends." I murmur.

Cassian glances toward me. "What?"

"He isn't reacting." I keep watching. "He's waiting."