Blake POV
I don’t kid myself about what’s coming.
By tomorrow—by the next day at the latest—we’ll have to stop pretending we can outrun it. The fortress wards have already hummed twice tonight in warning, subtle pulses that tell me someone out there is probing, testing, learning. Training has been relentless for a few days. Hard. Necessary. Exhausting in a way that settles into bone.
But even war pauses to draw breath.
Even fire needs air.
“One night,” I say, standing in the central hall while the others gather—sweat-streaked, bruised, restless. “No drills. No sparring. No training.”
Rhazek squints at me like I’ve just suggested we all take up embroidery.
“You just canceled training,” he says slowly. “Are you dying?”
Vaelor looks personally offended. “I stretched for that session.”
