The packhouse was quiet when Asher returned that evening. I had been nursing my sore muscles, sprawled across my bed, wishing the day had ended without another challenge. But Asher had other plans.
“Trinity.” He said, leaning against the doorframe with that infuriating grin. “Get dressed.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Get dressed.” He repeated. “Not in your usual training clothes. Something… a lot more fitting for tonight.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Fitting for what?”
“You’ll see.” He pushed the door open, stepping inside with a confidence I couldn’t quite match. “Trust me. You won’t regret it.”
I wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that after a full day of training, I didn’t care about ‘fitting’ for anything. But something in his eyes—soft, excited, proud—made me stop.
“Fine.” I said reluc
