Alec.
The evening mist clung to the trees like breath on glass—thick and heavy. The last light of the sun bled across the sky, casting everything in gold and shadow. My warriors moved through it like ghosts, their grunts and the sharp smack of fists against flesh breaking through the quiet. I watched them. Every step. Every swing. Every mistake.
"Dren," I said, my voice low but carrying.
He froze mid-punch and turned toward me, shoulders already tense. His form wasn’t bad, but I’d seen the flaw the moment he stepped into the ring.
"That right hook,” I told him, stepping forward. “It’s weak.”
He frowned; he probably didn’t like hearing it in front of the others. Good. Let that sting drive him to fix it.
“You’re throwing it with your arm, not your body. You want to rattle someone’s sku
