The academy did not sleep.
Even in the dead of night, the training grounds echoed with the sounds of sparring, shouted commands, and the constant rhythm of discipline being beaten into future leaders.
Zayne stood in the center of the combat ring, chest heaving as snow drifted lazily across the open arena above.
Across from him, Blake wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and smirked.
“You’re distracted.”
Zayne rolled his shoulders, ignoring the ache spreading through his ribs.
“I’m winning.”
“Barely.”
Blake circled him slowly.
“You’ve been off all week.”
Zayne didn’t respond.
Blake had been saying that a lot lately.
He wasn’t wrong.
Something had been sitting under Zayne’s skin for days now—an uncomfortable tension that refused to settle.
It didn’t make sense.
Nothing had
