Xaden Riorson stood at the edge of the training yard, his arms crossed, golden-flecked eyes locked on her. She was sparring with Imogen, her movements sharp, calculated determined. His jaw tightened. He had spent years hating everything her name stood for. And yet, here she was, standing in his world, carrying the weight of their shared history as if it meant nothing.

He watched as she dodged a blow, barely missing the edge of Imogen’s blade. His heart clenched. If she fell, it wouldn’t be because she was weak, but because she was too stubborn to ask for help.

“You're staring again,” Garrick muttered beside him.

Xaden didn’t look away. “She’s reckless.”

“She’s surviving.” Garrick smirked. “And you care.”

Xaden scoffed but said nothing. Caring was a liability. He had learned that the hard way, the day he watched his father burn under her mother’s orders. And yet, despite every reason to push her away, here he was dragging her squad under his command, watching over her, ensuring she lived to fight another day.

That night, he found her in the courtyard, arms wrapped around herself, staring into the darkness. He knew that look he wore it himself too often. Without thinking, he stepped beside her, the silence stretching between them.

“You should be resting,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, eyes wary yet searching. “I don’t sleep well.”

Neither did he. “No one does.”

For a moment, their past hung between them like an invisible blade, but he didn’t leave. Instead, his shadows curled protectively at his feet, the closest thing he could offer. She didn’t move away.

Maybe they would always be enemies. But tonight, they weren’t.