"Whenever you're ready," he said.
Daphne didn't rush him.
She adjusted her stance, planted her feet properly, relaxed her shoulders, and corrected the angle of her sword.
Then she attacked first.
Alaric blocked her smoothly, barely moving his feet. Their blades met with a sharp sound, and he redirected her strike like it weighed nothing.
She came again, switching angles, trying to force him to move.
He let her. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to please her.
Her footwork was good, her balance was good, and her timing was solid. She knew how to read an opponent, how to wait, how to strike without wasting movement.
Aidan watched with quiet approval. "She hasn't lost it."
Finn nodded. "Not even a little."
Daphne pushed harder, landing a solid strike that Alaric deflected at the last second.
"You're focused," he said calmly. "That's good."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're barely trying."
"I am," he replied. "Just not struggling."
