“Posture.. Too little footwork… still.” Hendrickson’s voice cut through the training grounds like a blade, a sharp whisper from the sidelines. You resisted the smirk threatening to surface, forcing your expression into one of seriousness as you turned to face him. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.” He growled, his tone dripping with authority. “You should be grateful I’m still wasting my time training you. It’s the only thing keeping your survival odds from plummeting.”

He wasn’t wrong. Without him, you’d never have clawed your way into this position. But lately… you’d found yourself stumbling, on purpose. Mistakes, missteps, moments of imperfection, all designed to stretch out these training sessions, just to have a few more moments of his attention. He was your savior after your parents died. Hendrickson was the one who offered you guidance.

“If you’re so determined to steal more of my time…” His voice dropped lower now, each word a dagger aimed directly at your pride. “Then at the very least, you could listen to me.”

Oh no. There it was, that tone. The very angry one, the one that showed up whenever I’d drift off.