The early morning air was crisp, the sun barely rising over the horizon when Kyle stepped out into the training grounds.
He hadn't expected anyone to be awake yet, let alone already swinging a sword with such intensity.
Kyle's senses flared, catching the flicker of another presence.
He followed it, quietly weaving between the columns of the estate until he saw her.
Melissa stood in the center of the grounds, breath fogging the cold morning air, sweat already soaking through her training shirt.
Her moves were precise but unrefined—driven more by desperation than form. Her muscles trembled with exertion, her strikes erratic and wrong in a way only someone deeply familiar with combat would recognize.
And Kyle could recognize it instantly.
He stepped in just as she raised her wooden sword for another overhead slash.
Kyle's hand shot forward, catching the weapon mid-swing before it could fall.
