Silver did not realize she was shaking until the tremor reached her teeth.
The forest had gone too still, the silence felt curated, like the trees themselves had been instructed not to interrupt.
She forced her spine straight.
“If resistance stops being my instinct,” she said carefully, “what exactly do you think replaces it?”
Drogo regarded her the way scholars regard rare texts. “Clarity,” he replied.
A hollow laugh almost escaped her, but it died before it reached her throat.
“This is not clarity.”
“No?” His voice remained even. “When you are not fighting me, your thoughts slow, your pulse steadies, and your reactions become deliberate rather than reflexive. That is not fear, Silver, that is precision.”
Her heartbeat, which had been hammering wildly moments ago, began to even ou
