Nathan’s POV
We moved the furniture in the manor’s west wing training hall — my favorite space after midnight. The walls were lined with mirrored glass, polished wood beams stretched across the ceiling, and moonlight bled in through the high windows. It was just the two of us. No betas. No guards. No watching eyes.
Isabelle stood in the middle of the mat barefoot, hair tied back, wearing my old Nightbourne hoodie and black shorts. She had her hands at her sides, shoulders squared. Ready. Focused. She didn’t speak.
Good.
I walked to face her and said only, “Let’s begin.”
She lunged.
It caught me off guard — not the move itself, but the lack of hesitation. Weeks ago, she’d flinched before every step. Second-guessed herself before every jab. Tonight, she sprang like a spark lit beneath
