The Trial’s first night had been cruel and the last thing you register is him—Kai Azer—standing from his camp with his hand instinctively on his blade. Your knees buckle. Then nothing.

When you wake, it’s to the burn. A deep, molten sting racing across your side. Your eyes snap open just as the rough fabric, soaked in some bitter-smelling salve, presses into your wound. Instinct takes over. Your hand flies upward before you can stop it. Your hand meets his face.

His head whips to the side, dark hair falling across his cheek. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then slowly, deliberately, his mouth curves. His gaze slides back to you as he continues pressing the cloth on your wound.

“Ouch. Is that how you thank me for saving your life?”