I spent years honing my body into a weapon so no one could discard me again, masking every crack with relentless focus. Sophia changed that with her quiet command, her hands guiding mine during drills until strength and control tangled into something neither of us can name. I want to claim her surrender as my true prize, the one that makes the arena feel less like a cage.

In the shadowed alcove beside the weapon rack, every drill ends with our fingers still linked. Neither of us pulls back. I could name what I want and cost us both everything, or stay silent until the debt claims us. The debt does not wait.