[Draven’s POV]

I cannot shake the memory of her beneath me.

The packed earth of the training yard. Her body pinned under mine. Those fierce blue eyes staring up without flinching. And then—impossibly—her fist connecting solidly with my jaw.

No one has managed that in years. The sting has long faded, but the impression lingers like a brand.

“You’re brooding again,” Khaira observes through our bond. “It’s becoming tedious.”

“I don’t brood. I contemplate strategically.”

“Is that what humans are calling it now? How wonderfully dignified.”

I ignore her. The reports on my desk blur together while my mind replays the fight.

Her footwork. Her instincts. The way she moved—refined, precise, undeniably house-trained despite every denial. Rogues don’t fight like that. Wanderers don’t develop that kind of muscle memory through roadside lessons.

She’s lying about her past. I’ve known it from the beginning.

What troubles me now is how little I care about uncovering the truth.

“Because you care about other things instead,” Khaira supplies unhelpfully. “Interesting things. Soft things. Things with silver hair and—”

“Enough.”

“I was going to say ‘fierce determination.’ Your mind went somewhere else entirely. How telling.”

What an insufferable creature.

Evening brings restlessness I can’t contain. I find myself walking toward the dragon roosts without consciously deciding to go there. The cliff path winds upward through salt-heavy air.

Then I see her.

Evelyn stands at the overlook, frozen in place. Her attention fixes entirely on Khaira’s massive form where my dragon rests on the rocky outcrop above.

She doesn’t notice me watching at first.

Her expression steals the breath from my lungs. Pure longing. Raw, desperate yearning that speaks of dreams denied and hopes buried deep. Her hand reaches upward toward Khaira—not in fear, but in desire.

Like she’s reaching for something she’s been denied her entire life.

“She feels right,” Khaira murmurs. “I’ve told you this before. You should listen.”

My dragon does something unexpected then. She rumbles softly—a sound of welcome, of recognition—and leans her massive head closer to the small woman standing below.

Khaira hasn’t done that for anyone since Lyanna.

My chest tightens painfully and the memories, the grief I’ve carried for four years rises like bile.

I lost my love. My partner.

I spent two years hunting her killers through every territory that would have me.

I cannot feel this way again. I refuse to.

Yet I stand in shadows, watching a houseless wanderer reach for my dragon with all the longing in her soul, and something cracks in the wall around my heart.

“You can’t control everything,” Khaira says gently. “Some things simply happen.”

“Nothing simply happens. Everything is a choice.”

“Then choose wisely. But don’t choose fear.”

I retreat before Evelyn notices my presence. Cowardice, perhaps. Or self-preservation. The distinction blurs more each day.

The next morning brings training and I observe from shadows as Xavier runs the tournament candidates through drills.

Then Venna strides onto the field.

She walks with predatory purpose, dark hair swept back severely. Her gaze locks onto Evelyn with barely concealed hatred.

“I challenge the houseless woman to formal combat,” Venna announces, voice carrying across the yard. “Let her prove she deserves to compete in our tournament, to stand among us—or crawl back to whatever gutter she came from.”

The trainees fall silent instantly and tension crackles through the air like lightning before a storm. I see Evelyn’s jaw sets as defiance rises in her posture.

She’s going to accept the challenge.

“Denied.”

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