Damon
She was slower today.
Not in technique; Elena moved with precision and surprising skill, but there was a slight lag between her reaction and recovery. A half-second delay in her counters. The tiniest hitch in her breath after each strike.
No one else on the training grounds would notice, but I did.
I noticed everything.
And the more I watched her move, the more irritated I became. Not with her, exactly, but with the gnawing sense that something was off.
She blocked a jab to the ribs and pivoted back, favoring her left leg again. Her arms lowered a fraction too long before rising into guard position. When I advanced again, her parry came late. Not lazy, just slower.
My brows furrowed.
“Again,” I commanded, stepping forward.
She gritted her teeth and lunged toward me, but I
