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“You learned a valuable lesson that day and turned your weakness into a strength. You adapted.”

“Those were different times.”

“In some ways, yes. In others, not so much. We still fight to survive every day. The risk of discovery, the Sect—”

“Your own brothers.”

“Even them.”

Torr thought of his younger self, lying on the ground, winded, listening as cheers went up for his opponent. He’d been embarrassed. Ashamed. But more than anything, angry. At first he’d vowed never to lose another joust in his life. But he’d come to realize such a vow would be foolish—he’d only be setting himself up for failure.

Instead, he had decided he’d never let the enemy get close enough to put a sword to his throat. He would forever be on the offense, never taken unaware. Seek. Disarm. Destroy. Or, in the case of the Cheld, protect.

But he’d not been on the offensive this time. Charlotte had stripped away his armor nearly overnight, and it made him more than a little uneasy.

He was so wrapped up in thought, he didn’t even notice when Kenton left his side. Hadn’t even noticed Kenton was no longer by his side

Torr was lost in thought, in memory, and in speculation of a future he hadn’t sought—but one that had found him nonetheless. The question was, would he embrace it or lie on the ground, defeated?

As if that were really a question . . .