Valentino Luceri stood in the secluded forest, his bow gripped tightly in his hand. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows through the trees, but Valentino’s focus was unwavering. His greyish-brown hair, slightly disheveled from hours of intense training, barely registered in his mind. He had only one thought: Silas Arsenyev.

The image of Silas standing on the podium, gold medal gleaming around his neck, haunted Valentino every waking moment. Silver. The word itself tasted like ash. He had never settled for second place in his life, and the fact that he had lost to Silas—lost to anyone—was unacceptable. He had to be better. He had to beat him.

He notched an arrow, eyes narrowing as he focused on a distant target—a tiny, makeshift bullseye nailed to a tree. With a deep breath, he drew the bowstring back, the tension in his arm muscles a familiar comfort. He exhaled slowly, releasing the arrow in one fluid motion.

Thwack!

The arrow struck dead center, but Valentino didn’t smile. He never smiled. He simply notched another arrow, readying himself for another shot. But just as he was about to release, something moved in his peripheral vision—a flash of white against the undergrowth.

His cold eyes shifted, and there it was, a rabbit, small and fragile, nibbling on some leaves. For a moment, his rigid demeanor softened. Valentino had always had a strange affinity for rabbits, their quiet nature and skittishness resonating with something deep within him. They were solitary creatures, much like him.

He lowered his bow, watching the rabbit with an almost imperceptible tenderness. It was one of the few things in the world that could break through his icy exterior.

But then, his thoughts snapped back to Silas, to the medal that should have been his, and the moment of softness vanished as quickly as it had come. He couldn’t afford distractions. Not now. Not ever.

Valentino turned his back to the rabbit, resuming his practice with a renewed intensity..