The room crackled with tension, the air charged and thick with power—his and mine, colliding in an invisible storm. My breath came slow and steady, every muscle in my body tuned for war.
Samuel—or the one who inside him—tilted his head with an eerie grace. The glow around his chest dimmed to a steady pulse, like a heartbeat tethered to something older than time.
"No more masks then," he said, stretching his fingers like a pianist about to play a requiem.
I didn't answer.
There was no need to.
A fight was already inevitable.
His next move was fast—but not as fast as mine.
The moment his foot shifted, I also moved.
My body blurred, vanishing from my original position and reappearing at his side in the blink of an eye. Lan's blade hummed in the air, a silver flash carving toward his ribs.
But this time, he was ready.
With one smooth motion, he raised his hand and caught the blade.
Not with a weapon.
With his bare fingers.
