Days blur into a rhythm I almost recognize as belonging.

Training consumes my mornings now. Xavier’s drills push my body to its limits, but the familiar burn feels cleaner than scrubbing floors ever did.

The other trainees still watch me with suspicion but slowly, grudgingly, some of that suspicion begins to thaw.

During water breaks, I drift toward the same small group. Mira’s sharp wit draws me in first, but soon others join our corner of the training yard.

“You’re improving,” Finn says, tossing me a waterskin. Sera’s nephew shares her keen eyes but none of her severity. “Another week and you might actually be worth sparring against.”

“High praise from someone who tripped over his own feet yesterday,” Mira shoots back.

“That was strategy. I was lulling my opponent into false confidence.”

“You lulled yourself into the dirt.”

Dorian, the elder’s quiet grandson, almost smiles. It’s the most expression I’ve seen from him in days.

“Where did you learn to fight?” Finn asks. “Your forms are almost too clean. Like you learned from a book instead of a battlefield.”

“Self-taught, mostly.” The lie comes easier now. “Watching others. Practicing alone.”

“Must have been lonely,” Mira observes.

“It was.” I don’t have to fake the wistfulness. “But loneliness has its advantages. No distractions. No one to disappoint.”

“Sounds miserable,” Finn declares. “Half the fun of learning is having someone to compete against.”

“The other half is winning,” Dorian adds quietly.

“See? Dorian understands.” Finn drapes an arm around the quieter boy. “We’ve been competing since we could walk. His grandfather used to make us race for honey cakes.”

“You cheated,” Dorian says flatly.

“I improvised.” Finn presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “There’s a difference.”

Mira rolls her eyes, grinning. “There really isn’t.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“The side that tells the truth.” She nudges Dorian, and he huffs something that might be a laugh.

I watch them, throat tight. This is what friendship looks like—teasing and trust woven together until they’re indistinguishable.

I’ve never had this. Back home, every interaction carried calculation. Every smile hid a blade. My sister collected allies like weapons. I collected bruises and learned to flinch at kindness.

But here, three people argue about honey cakes like it matters. Like I matter. The realization aches sweet and terrifying.

Mira catches my expression. Her teasing softens. “You’ll fit in eventually. Just takes time.”

“How much time?”

“Depends. Finn took three years to stop being annoying.”

“Still waiting,” Dorian murmurs.

Finn clutches his chest. “Lies and slander!”

I laugh—a real laugh. Finn beams like he’s won something precious.

Movement draws my attention. Venna stands near the weapon racks. Her eyes meet mine briefly before sliding toward the training yard entrance. Her posture changes. Stiffens.

I follow her gaze. Riven has just entered. He hasn’t noticed Venna yet. But she watches him, jaw tight, hands curling into fists.

Then Riven looks up. Their eyes lock. Something charged and painful passes between them. Venna’s chin lifts with cold defiance. Riven’s expression hardens before he deliberately looks away.

“She’s watching you again,” Mira murmurs. “Be careful.”

But I’m not sure Venna was watching me just now. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Doesn’t matter to her. Just—be careful.”

Xavier’s whistle summons us back. Strike. Block. Pivot. Again.

By evening, exhaustion weighs heavy on my limbs. I find a quiet corner of the courtyard where moonlight pools silver between shadows.

Footsteps approach. I tense before recognizing Riven emerging from darkness.

His demeanor has shifted since our first encounter. The cold suspicion has thawed into something warmer. He leans against the stone wall, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

“You surprised me today,” he says. “I didn’t expect much from a rogue. I was wrong.”

“People usually are.” I shrug, keeping my voice light despite the way my pulse quickens. Something about his easy confidence unsettles me—or maybe it’s how different he seems from the threatening figure who cornered me days ago.

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