Christina's POV
Training with Marcel became a routine that I was now starting to look forward to. I had been doing so for two weeks, and it was helping me. I faced him in the training room three times a week, and we pretended everything was alright.
It was an unspoken truce—he didn't push, and I didn't go back. Neither addressed the lingering tension from that day after the execution or the awkward closeness during training. We just... moved on.
Somehow, I was okay with it. I didn't want to bother myself with my emotions just yet, so I threw myself into the training, letting the strain distract me from them. It was easier to focus on striking, dodging, countering—anything but the wickedly handsome man whose gaze lingered too long. It was easier to pretend I didn't want to be close to hi
