The packhouse was quiet, save for the low murmur of voices coming from the common room. Lyra slipped inside, her feet aching, her hands still slightly trembling from the strain of training. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck and the front of her shirt clung to her skin. She just wanted water—something cold to wash the heat and nerves from her chest.
As she stepped into the kitchen, she froze.
Kyson was already there.
He stood near the sink, shirtless now, a towel slung over one shoulder, muscles tense as he poured himself a glass of water. His chest rose and fell slowly, the sheen of sweat along his skin catching the light. He looked… dangerous. And beautiful. And far too calm after what just happened between them on the field.
She hovered by the door, debating whether to walk in o
