Connor didn’t waste time easing into it.
The next round started fast. Faster than Danielle expected. He lunged forward, a low sweep toward her legs that she barely jumped back from in time. Her foot caught slightly on the grass, but she kept her balance, arms lifting on instinct. He followed up with a jab to her side. She twisted, gritting her teeth, and blocked with the edge of her forearm.
Pain vibrated through her wrist, but she held.
“Good,” Connor said, his voice focused now, lower. “Keep your center tight.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her body was already moving, shifting to avoid the next strike. He was faster now, testing her limits. Her blocks came quicker, sloppier. But she was still blocking. Still standing. Her breathing came in hard bursts, muscles burning from the effort
