JAIME’S POV
Sweat drips down my temple. My breathing is heavy as I tighten my grip around the wooden training sword. Across from me, Carissa wipes the back of her hand against her forehead. Her chest rises and falls heavily. Her stance is solid. Her fingers are rightly clenched around her own weapon. The morning sun beats down on us, illuminating the of sweat on her skin, but she doesn’t waver. Not once.
Training with Carissa has become my escape. A daily ritual that pulls me from my thoughts and keeps me grounded in the present. She’s improving at an alarming rate, faster than anyone I’ve ever trained. Faster than she should. And while a part of me is proud of her progress, another part—one I can’t quite stop—feels unsettled.
I swing, testing her reflexes, but she blocks effortlessly.
