She had faltered at first, but only briefly. The concentration, the focus, the precision of her solutions… and when she credited him indirectly, a small nod, a quiet acknowledgment of his guidance, his chest had tightened. She trusts me.
That was the best feeling he had ever had in his entire life.
The arena. Stephanie's smirk. The crowd leaning forward. Nnenna on the defensive, every skillful move of hers countered by Stephanie's reach and strength. She had fallen once, countless times. But each time, she rose.
Her fists, her stance, her will, unyielding. Her resilience had been almost blinding in its clarity, and he had watched, clenched, aware of every hit she dodged, every strike she parried, every stumble she recovered from. She had not given in. Not once.
The cliff. The wind. The salt in the air. His grip tightening, not on the stone, not on the ledge, but on the memory of her, every fragment vivid and alive.
