The Rivera estate was unusually quiet for the late afternoon. The halls, once bustling with doctors, guards, and Veronica's commanding footsteps, had settled into a soft stillness. Only the muted thud of practice strikes echoed from the training wing, where the makeshift dojo had been arranged in one of the larger indoor courtyards.
Damien stood at the edge of the mat, his arms folded over his chest, his sharp eyes following every movement Amara made. Weeks had passed since the night of blood and chaos at the docks. Weeks since he had lain unconscious, drifting between life and death, his body patched together by sheer will and his mother's insistence on the best private surgeons. The wound still ached when he pushed too hard, but he didn't care. Watching Amara now, focused and fierce, wa
