Chapter 5. Training Grounds

The sky over Crescent Ridge stretched flat and colorless, the clouds low and heavy like a physical weight no one acknowledged. The training yard, a vast oval of hard-packed earth and worn sand, stank of stale sweat, sharp adrenaline, and damp, freshly turned dirt—every inch a recognized battleground of pride, status, and brute strength. This was where dominance was displayed, not discussed; where ranks were proven with bruises and broken breath, not polite words or lineage certificates.

Aria stood at the very edge of the ring, the rough, packed surface unforgiving beneath the thin soles of her boots. Her stomach was coiling tighter, knotting with a mixture of apprehension and mounting rage, with each new name the gravel-voiced instructor shouted.

“Liam and Vesper.”

A beat of charged silence followed.

Of course.

Liam cracked his thick knuckles beside her, a loud, casual sound, wearing the expression of someone who had been handed a particularly entertain