The room was silent except for the distant hum of air vents and the scuff of rubber soles on padded flooring. The training center's main chamber was a vast space—clean, matte gray, and empty save for the two figures at its center.
Rael tossed Vial a plain training shirt. "Put it on. You'll sweat, and I don't want you passing out on my mat."
Vial caught it with a raised brow. "You really think I'm that weak?"
"You got choked out from behind," she said flatly. "By someone smaller than you."
He slipped on the shirt with a grumble. "Yeah, yeah…"
Rael took off her jacket and gloves, her toned frame visible beneath the snug athletic top. She stepped onto the mat barefoot, movements precise and practiced. "Lesson one: awareness. Anyone can learn to fight, but if you don't learn to read the room, you're already dead."
Vial stepped opposite her, adjusting his stance awkwardly. "So we're just diving into it?"
"There's no warm-up in an ambush," Rael said, then moved.
Her leg swept toward his ankles with no warning. Vial jumped back too late and stumbled, barely catching himself.
"Ow—hey!"
"Balance. Try again."
She lunged again, this time throwing a palm toward his chest. Vial raised his arms instinctively. It smacked against his forearm with surprising force, pushing him back. His footing was all over the place, and Rael circled like a shark.
"Stop bracing. Redirect. Let the force slide past you."
"I don't know what that means!" Vial hissed, backpedaling.
Rael didn't slow. "Then learn."
They went again.
And again.
By the fifth exchange, sweat clung to Vial's brow. He was breathing heavier, but something had clicked. When Rael struck this time, he twisted his shoulder instead of blocking head-on. Her momentum carried past him.
"Better," she said mid-motion.
Vial moved without thinking—grabbed her wrist, pivoted—
They both hit the mat.
Hard.
Rael landed atop him, one knee against his hip, her palm braced on his chest. They froze.
Vial stared up at her, blinking. "…Uh…"
Rael didn't move. Her breath was steady, eyes unreadable.
"This… counts as a win, right?" he joked weakly.
She leaned closer. "It counts as you dropping your guard while talking."
And with a flick of her wrist, she twisted his arm and flipped him onto his stomach.
"Yow—okay! Okay!"
Rael stood, brushing herself off. "You're learning."
Vial lay there, groaning into the mat. "…You're scary."
Rael smirked faintly. "Good. Again."
Vial grunted as he hit the mat again—less painful this time, more controlled. He was starting to get the rhythm, the movement, the breathing. Rael was fast, but not cruel. Every time she took him down, she adjusted the pressure, guiding instead of punishing.
"Get up."
He rolled to his feet, panting. "You really don't go easy on people, huh?"
"I don't train people to lose," Rael said simply. "Now, let's test your escape."
She moved behind him—again a chokehold, but slow this time. One arm curved around his neck, the other locked it in. Her body pressed close, chest against his back, breath warm near his ear.
Vial stiffened. "Uh—this is… tight."
"It's supposed to be," she replied, voice low. "Now get out of it."
He hesitated.
"I said move."
He tried twisting. Her grip tightened instinctively. He pushed back harder, trying to slip under her hold. Their legs tangled. His arm found her waist, fingers pressing into her side for leverage. Her breath caught—just for a second.
Then she lost her footing.
They collapsed to the mat—Vial on top, straddling her hips, pinning her arms.
They both froze.
Rael's eyes widened slightly. His hands had landed near her ribs, bracing himself. Their faces were inches apart. She could feel the weight of his body—warm, solid, undeniably male. Something foreign. Something real.
For a long second, neither moved. The soft hum of lights, their breathing, the mat under them—it was all that existed.
Rael's gaze shifted—first to his lips, then away.
"We're done for today."
Her voice was tight. Not her usual calm. She shoved his shoulder lightly, and Vial quickly rolled off, unsure what he just did wrong.
"Did I—"
"No," Rael said sharply. She stood, turning her back to him as she straightened her shirt. "You did fine."
Vial sat up slowly. "…Right."
Rael took a breath that sounded steadier than she looked.
"Same time tomorrow. Don't be late."
And with that, she left the mat, her steps faster than usual—controlled, but not unaffected.
Vial just stared after her, unsure whether he'd passed a test… or started one.
Rael stood alone in the locker room, the fluorescent lights casting pale shadows across the tiled floor. Her reflection stared back at her from the long wall mirror—flushed cheeks, slightly disheveled hair, and a tightness in her jaw that hadn't been there before.
She gripped the edge of the sink.
"It was just training."
But her body told her otherwise.
The moment Vial had pinned her, the weight of him pressing down, the warmth of his breath so close—something in her chest had pulled taut, unfamiliar and unwelcomed. Her control, usually flawless, had slipped.
For a second, she'd frozen.
That had never happened before. Not in combat. Not in simulations. Not even under pressure from foreign agents or political tension. And it wasn't because of danger.
It was because of him.
She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, eyes shut tight as droplets ran down her cheeks. But it didn't cool her thoughts.
"You're being ridiculous."
Still, her mind kept circling back to that split-second—his weight, his eyes, the way he looked down at her like he didn't understand what just passed between them either.
He didn't mean anything by it. Of course he didn't. He was probably just as clueless.
But she wasn't.
Rael stared at herself again. Her reflection looked like someone else. A woman, not just a soldier. Not just a commander. Someone caught off guard by the simplest, most human reaction—
Touch.
Male touch, specifically. The kind no one in this world had felt for years unless they were in the highest rungs of government or obscenely wealthy sectors. Rael had been trained to treat it as a variable—dangerous, distracting, and never necessary.
And yet…
She inhaled deeply, straightened her posture, and brushed her damp hair back. The mask of control slid back into place, even if the edges felt a little cracked.
"Focus." She told herself. "He's just a mission priority. Nothing more."
Still… she didn't head straight for her next assignment. Instead, she lingered a little longer in the empty silence, as if trying to piece herself back together before anyone saw the seams.