The training yard stretched before her like an execution ground.

  Jagged stone platforms, deep cracks in the earth where battles had been fought and won, the scent of magic and sweat clinging to the air. It was still early, the sun barely cresting over the Citadel’s high walls, but the pressure was already suffocating.

  Amara stood at the edge of the sparring ring, fingers twitching against the Auris Threads at her wrists.

  This was it. Day one.

  And she already knew it was going to be hell.

  Orin stood in the center of the ring, arms crossed, every inch of him built for war. Not a man—an obstacle. One that wouldn’t move unless she forced him to.

  Lorina watched from a shadowed ledge nearby, silent as ever, her unreadable gaze flicking over Amara as if calculating exactly how long she would last.

  Myles? Relaxed, watching. Not quite entertained, not quite indifferent. Just… watching.

  Orin finally spoke, his voice clipped. “Five laps. No magic.”

  Amara tensed. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  She gritted her teeth. The aches from Placement still burned under her skin, every step reminding her just how badly she’d lost. But she knew hesitation would only make it worse.

  So she ran.

  The first lap was fine. The second, tolerable. By the third, her ribs screamed in protest. The bruises on her back pulsed with every movement, and the Auris Threads coiled tighter against her wrists, mocking her weakness.

  By the fourth, she was losing pace.

  By the fifth, she was the last to finish.

  Silence.

  Orin didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her, unimpressed. Like she wasn’t even worth a reaction.

  Myles tilted his head slightly, expression amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make us underestimate you.”

  Amara shot him a glare, breath still uneven. “You don’t know better.”

  He grinned. “Fair point. But I’d at least like to pretend.”

  Lorina didn’t spare him a glance. “She’s still standing.”

  Myles hummed, nodding toward Amara. “Barely.”

  Orin finally spoke, his tone like steel. “That was pathetic.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I—”

  “You’re slow. Sloppy. You move like someone who’s trying to force power instead of working with what you have. Do you even know what your advantage is?”

  She hesitated.

  “Thought so,” Orin muttered. “Again.”

  Amara blinked. “You can’t be serious.”

  Orin’s expression didn’t change. “If you’re still talking, you’re not running.”

  Myles let out a low, mock-thoughtful sound. “If she passes out, do we get the rest of the day off?”

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  Orin ignored him, but Amara felt the way his patience was wearing thin.

  So she ran.

  Again.

  And again.

  By the time Orin finally called her back to the ring, her lungs felt like they were lined with sand.

  He looked her over once, then cracked his knuckles. “One-on-one.”

  Amara wiped sweat from her brow. “With who?”

  He rolled his shoulders. “Me.”

  Myles let out a short breath, almost a laugh. “This’ll be short.”

  Orin ignored him and turned to Amara. “Show me you’re worth my time.”

  She hesitated.

  Then she stepped forward.

  The fight began immediately.

  No time to brace. No time to think.

  Pain.

  A strike to her ribs, precise and brutal, sent her stumbling back.

  She barely had time to recover before he was on her again.

  Amara dodged—not well, but enough. She tried to counter, but he caught her wrist too fast, twisting it behind her back.

  A sharp jolt of pain.

  “You’re trying to match force with force,” Orin said flatly. “You won’t win like that.”

  She gritted her teeth, struggling. “Then how am I supposed to fight?”

  He let her go.

  Only to sweep her legs out from under her.

  She hit the stone hard, her vision blurring.

  The instinct to stay down was strong.

  But she didn’t.

  Amara pushed herself up. Slowly. Painfully.

  She wasn’t winning this fight.

  She wasn’t meant to win this fight.

  But she would get up. Every time.

  Orin’s stance shifted. Just slightly.

  Myles let out a low whistle. “She’s stubborn. That’s new.”

  Lorina hummed. “More like reckless.”

  Orin rolled his shoulders. “Again.”

  Amara exhaled.

  Then stepped forward.

  This time, she didn’t hesitate.

  This time, she moved.

  And this time, Orin didn’t hold back.

  Pain exploded across her ribs as she barely managed to block his strike. Her footing wavered, but she forced herself to recover, twisting away before he could land the next hit. She was reacting faster. Not by much, but enough to notice.

  Not enough to matter.

  Orin’s follow-up came hard and fast. Too fast.

  She saw it, knew it was coming, but her body was too slow to keep up.

  Impact.

  She hit the ground hard, the stone unforgiving beneath her.

  Something warm trickled down her lip. Split. Again.

  Amara exhaled, tasting copper.

  She wiped at it absentmindedly, smearing blood across her skin. Her arms felt like lead, her body an uncooperative mass of pain and exhaustion.

  Orin stood across from her, not even breathing hard.

  Infuriating.

  Amara exhaled slowly, steadying herself, but she could feel the bruises deepening, the slow tremble in her muscles that meant she wouldn’t last much longer.

  Myles let out a low whistle from the sidelines. “I think this is the part where most people would stop.”

  Lorina, watching from the shadows, didn’t move. “She’s not most people.”

  Orin’s gaze remained on Amara, impassive. “On your feet.”

  Her fingernails dug into her palms.

  She wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him that this wasn’t training—it was punishment. That she wasn’t improving, she was getting broken down. But that wasn’t what he wanted.

  Orin was waiting.

  Waiting for her to break.

  Waiting for her to give in.

  She wouldn’t.

  Amara rolled her shoulders, every movement sharp with pain. Then she moved.

  This time, she didn’t try to overpower him.

  She let herself be small. Let herself slip under his reach.

  A dodge. A sidestep. A feint.

  Orin’s stance shifted.

  Not much, but enough.

  Myles made a low, amused sound. “Oh, she’s learning.”

  Orin lunged.

  Amara ducked, barely missing the strike aimed for her ribs. She twisted—faster this time—pivoting to avoid the follow-up blow.

  Her footwork wasn’t perfect.

  Her balance was shaky.

  But she was adapting.

  Orin didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge the small progress. He just pressed harder.

  This time, when Amara hit the ground, it wasn’t as brutal.

  Still humiliating. Still painful. But different.

  Less like failure.

  More like progress.

  Orin offered no praise, no indication that anything had changed. Just a nod. Barely there, almost dismissive.

  “Again.”

  Amara sighed sharply through her nose. Then stood.

  By the time training ended, Amara was half-dead.

  Her body was one giant ache. Every bruise from Placement had been made worse.

  Orin walked ahead, silent as ever, but Amara could feel his presence at her side the entire way back. The soreness had settled deep, a dull, throbbing ache beneath her skin. She didn’t limp. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Elira was waiting when they reached the entrance to the dormitories, arms crossed, her gaze flicking immediately over Amara’s bruises.

  “Took you long enough,” she muttered.

  Orin didn’t slow. “She needed the extra time.”

  Elira’s eyes sharpened. “Did she?”

  Orin didn’t answer, but something in his posture shifted—so subtle most wouldn’t notice. Elira did.

  Her jaw tightened. “You break her?”

  Orin kept walking. “She’s still standing.”

  Elira let out a sharp exhale. “That’s not an answer.”

  Amara cut in before it could escalate. “I’m fine.” It came out more strained than she wanted.

  Elira didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. Instead, she gave Orin one last glance before huffing and rolling her eyes. “You look like someone beat the hell out of you.”

  Amara snorted. “Someone did.”

  Elira’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her eyes did. She didn’t like this.

  Still, she gestured vaguely toward the hall. “Go clean yourself up before you collapse.”

  For once, Amara didn’t argue.

  Because she agreed.