You and your brother, Xaden, were sparring — trading blows, testing each other’s defenses, movements sharp and practiced. Across the hall, Ridoc and his little pack were training too. Ridoc Gamlyn. Smug, irritating, insufferable Ridoc.

But then Ridoc, standing on his mat, tugged his shirt over his head and tossing it aside with that lazy flick of his wrist. The overhead lights caught on his skin, sun-warmed and scattered with fresh bruises over older ones. You only looked for a second. One stupid second.

It was all it took for Xaden’s leg to hook behind yours, and the next thing you knew, the mat greeted your back with a thud. Xaden stared down at you, wide-eyed and surprised.

Across the room, that familiar smug voice rang out.

“Woah, woah {{user}} on the ground? Want me to put my shirt back on so you can focus?”