Back at the suite, his bedroom door was shut. Same as the first night. Me on the sofa, him behind a closed door. But the air was different. The whole room hummed at a frequency I couldn't unhear.
I lay on the sofa and told myself tomorrow would be normal.
It wasn't.
Next morning. Five AM. Vane in the kitchen, steam curling off his mug. I walked out and we passed each other in the narrow hall. His fingers grazed my elbow. Light enough to be an accident. Too deliberate to be one.
Goosebumps ran up my arm. I pretended not to notice and shut the bathroom door.
Training was worse. He went back to hands-on corrections, every touch lingering half a second too long. Adjusting my punch, his fingers trailed from my wrist to my forearm. Demonstrating a stance, he stepped behind me, hands pressin
