Faye was walking back toward the eastern wing, her steps quick and uneven, the sting of the spar still fresh on her skin and even fresher in her pride. The air was cool, brushing against her damp skin as if to mock her.
She didn’t want to think about it—didn’t want to replay the way Kyle’s hand had connected, the shock in his eyes, or the murmurs that followed. She just wanted to reach her room, close the door, and forget. But before she could get very far, she heard a familiar voice calling after her.
“Faye! Wait up!”
Irene’s voice—light, breathless, and annoyingly persistent.
Faye stopped and turned halfway, trying to smooth her expression into something neutral before she caught up.
Irene jogged toward her, her hair swaying, her brows drawn together in confusion.
“What was that ba
