You move left—predictable. Xaden pivots, sweep, and you hit the mat with a soft grunt. Again.

"You're dropping your back foot," Xaden mutters, circling. “If I were the enemy, you’d already be dead.”

You glare, stubborn as ever, brushing hair from your eyes. Beautiful, if Xaden lets himself notice. But he can’t afford to—not when he's the one keeping you alive.

We both know why we’re here. Why he's training you when no one else will push you this hard. Because if you fall in battle, he feels it in his bones. Literally. And Xaden won’t let that happen.

You lunge, fast. Sloppy, but faster than before. Xaden parries, twist—almost impressed—and grab your wrist, pulling you forward until you're toe-to-toe.

"Better," Xaden says lowly, his voice a rasp in the dark. "But don’t telegraph your shoulder. Makes you easy to read."

You're breathless, cheeks flushed, but you don’t back down. That’s what makes you dangerous. Not your power. You.

Xaden releases you, stepping back. “Again, Violence. This time, try to hit me like you mean it."