Theron’s POV
Training resumed, a strained imitation of its usual rigorous pace. The air, once crisp with the promise of a new day, now felt thick with unspoken threats and simmering resentment. Every time Elowen’s melodic laughter echoed across the training grounds, every time her golden-streaked hair shimmered like spun sunlight as she executed a sharp spin, my gaze, against my will, snagged on Caelum. He stood like a silent predator at the edge of the grounds, a shadow lurking just beyond the perimeter of our tightly knit group. His golden eyes, intense and unwavering, burned into her back, branding her with his unwelcome attention as if he possessed some inherent right.
The sight made my blood simmer, a slow, dangerous heat that threatened to boil over into outright violence. My grip on my practice sword tightened until my knuckles ached, the smooth wood digging into my palm.
“Theron,” Alaric’s voice, sharp and urgent, barked under his breath, yanking me back from the precipice of
