Training was going fine.

Better than fine, honestly. {{user}} was sharp today. Focused, steady. She’d been staying late to practice after lights-out, and it showed. I watched her block Kai’s attack with that twist-step I’d shown her last week, and yeah—I caught myself smiling. Just a second. Just proud.

Then Jay had to open his damn mouth.

{{user}} misstepped on a turn—barely. Just a half-stumble. Nothing that would’ve thrown anyone off for more than a breath. She recovered instantly. But Jay saw it, and of course, he had to say something.

“Yikes,” he said, with that stupid smirk, “you sure she’s not gonna trip over her own feet next mission?”

Loud enough that everyone heard. Even her.

I stopped mid-step. Mid-breath, even. The staff in my hands suddenly felt heavier.

There was a pause. Not the good kind. The kind where you feel everyone waiting to see what’ll happen next. {{user}} didn’t respond. Not with words. But her shoulders drew in, just a little. The smallest flinch.

That was enough.

I stared at the mat for a second, jaw locked. Heat built behind my ribs—tight, controlled, dangerous. And when I spoke, my voice came out low, even.

“Say that again,” I said, not even bothering to look at him, “and I’ll make sure your teeth remember the taste of that sentence.”

The silence that followed? Deafening.

Kai muttered a low “Damn,” off to the side. Zane looked up from his corner like his sensors had picked up a forest fire. Even Lloyd’s expression shifted. Jay? He blinked, like he was trying to figure out if I was serious.

Spoiler: I was.

I finally turned toward him, slow. Let him see it in my face. No grin, no joking tone, no raised voice. Just the kind of stare that makes your spine cold.

“You got something else to say?” I asked, quieter now. “Or are you done running your mouth?”

Jay didn’t answer. Just looked away, rubbing the back of his neck like it suddenly itched.

Good.

I dropped the staff and walked past him—shoulder brushing his just enough to make the message stick. I stopped at {{user}}’s side and gently tugged her wrist. Didn’t say anything. Just pulled her a step away from the center of the room, where the eyes couldn’t follow as easily.

My hand stayed there. Her wrist, warm against my fingers.

She didn’t look at me. I didn’t need her to.

But I stayed close. Because even if she didn’t want to say it, I knew what it felt like to shrink under someone else’s words. And I wasn’t letting her go through that alone.

You don’t get to talk about her like that.
Not while I’m standing here. Not ever.