Chapter 6: Breaking In

Two weeks passed.

Brynn's back healed faster than Cerys expected. The stitches came out on day ten. By day twelve, she could move without wincing. By day fourteen, she was restless.

She spent her days exploring the compound, learning the layout, watching the pack function. It was nothing like Greymire. Here, wolves laughed. Trained together. Ate together. Lived without the constant weight of fear.

It was strange. Beautiful. Unsettling.

She still flinched when someone approached too quickly. Still tensed when voices were raised. Still waited for the punishment that never came.

Old habits died hard.

On the fifteenth day, she found Torrhen in the training yard.

He was sparring with Davyn. Both were shirtless, covered in sweat, moving with the kind of precision that came from years of practice. Torrhen moved like water, fluid and controlled, every strike deliberate.

She watched from the edge of the yard, not wanting to interrupt.

Torrhen saw her anyway. He called a break and walked over, grabbing a towel.

"How's your back?"

"Healed."

"Cerys cleared you?"

"Yesterday."

He studied her. "You want to start training."

"Yes."

"Now?"

"If you have time."

He glanced at Davyn, who waved him off. "Go. I'll finish with the recruits."

Torrhen turned back to Brynn. "All right. Let's see what you can do."

He led her to a clear section of the yard. A few wolves stopped to watch. She tried to ignore them.

"Have you ever trained before?" he asked.

"No."

"Never?"

"Servants don't get combat training in Greymire."

His jaw tightened. "Right. Then we start with basics. Stance first."

He showed her how to stand. Feet shoulder width apart. Knees slightly bent. Weight balanced.

She copied him.

"Good. Now, if someone comes at you, your instinct will be to back up. Don't. Hold your ground. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

He moved toward her. Not fast, not aggressive. Just walking.

She stepped back.

"No," he said. "Again. Don't move."

He came at her again. This time she forced herself to stay still. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to hide, to disappear. But she stayed.

"Better. Now, if someone grabs you..."

He reached out slowly, giving her time to see it coming. His hand closed around her wrist.

The bond flared. Not pain, but awareness. His touch, her pulse, the connection between them humming.

She froze.

"Brynn."

She blinked. "Sorry."

"It's the bond. I feel it too."

"Does it always do that?"

"When we touch, yes. You'll get used to it."

She wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Focus," he said. "If someone grabs your wrist, you twist and pull. Like this."

He showed her the motion. She tried it. Failed. Tried again. Failed again.

"I can't do it."

"Yes, you can. You're just thinking too much. Stop thinking. Just react."

Easy for him to say.

They practiced for an hour. By the end, she was sweating and frustrated and her wrist hurt from twisting it wrong.

"That's enough for today," Torrhen said.

"I barely learned anything."

"You learned how to stand. How to hold your ground. That's more than you knew this morning."

She wanted to argue but couldn't. He was right.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes."

He smiled. "Good. You did well."

She didn't feel like she'd done well. But she nodded anyway.

Over the next week, training became routine.

Every morning, she met Torrhen in the yard. He taught her footwork, basic strikes, how to fall without hurting herself. He was patient, never rushing her, never making her feel stupid when she failed.

Which was often.

Her body didn't move the way it should. Ten years of malnutrition and abuse had left her weak. Her muscles tired quickly. Her reflexes were slow.

But she kept trying.

On the eighth day of training, Torrhen brought someone new.

"This is Kieran," he said. "One of my enforcers. He's going to spar with you."

Brynn looked at Kieran. He was younger than Torrhen, maybe mid twenties. Lean and quick looking.

"I don't know how to spar."

"That's why you're learning," Torrhen said. "Kieran will go easy on you."

"I don't want him to go easy."

Both men looked surprised.

"If I'm going to learn," Brynn continued, "I need to know what real fighting feels like. Not some watered down version."

Torrhen studied her. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"All right. Kieran, don't hold back. But don't hurt her either."

"Got it."

They squared off. Brynn's heart pounded. This was different from drilling with Torrhen. This was real.

Kieran moved first. Fast. She barely saw him coming.

He swept her legs. She hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of her lungs.

"Get up," Torrhen said.

She stood, shaking.

Kieran came at her again. This time she blocked. Barely. He swept her legs again. She fell.

"Get up."

She got up.

Again and again. Each time, she hit the ground. Each time, Torrhen told her to get up.

By the twentieth fall, she was bleeding from a split lip. By the thirtieth, she could barely stand.

"Enough," Torrhen said.

"No," Brynn gasped. "Again."

"Brynn, you're done."

"I said again."

Kieran looked at Torrhen. Torrhen nodded.

Kieran came at her. This time, something clicked. She saw the sweep coming. Shifted her weight. Stayed on her feet.

He looked surprised.

She smiled through the blood.

"Good," Torrhen said. "Now hit him back."

She threw a punch. Clumsy, off balance. Kieran blocked it easily.

But she'd tried. She'd fought back.

That was something.

Torrhen called the session. Kieran nodded to Brynn before walking away.

"That was reckless," Torrhen said.

"That was necessary."

"You could've gotten hurt."

"I got hurt anyway. At least this time I learned something."

He shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're stubborn."

"I survived ten years in Greymire. Stubborn is all I have."

He handed her a cloth for her lip. "Come on. Cerys will want to check you."

"I'm fine."

"Your lip is bleeding and you're limping. You're not fine."

She was limping. She hadn't noticed.

They walked to the healing rooms. Cerys took one look at Brynn and sighed.

"What did you do?"

"Trained."

"This is more than training. This is getting the hell beat out of you."

"Same thing."

Cerys cleaned the split lip and checked Brynn's ribs. "You're going to bruise. Badly. But nothing's broken."

"Good."

"It's not good. You need to pace yourself. You're not invincible."

"I never said I was."

Cerys looked at Torrhen. "Talk some sense into her."

"I tried. She doesn't listen."

"Then make her listen."

Torrhen crossed his arms. "Brynn, you need to be more careful."

"No."

"No?"

"If I'm careful, I'll never learn. I'll stay weak. I'll stay helpless. And I'm done being helpless."

He stared at her. Something shifted in his expression. Not anger. Something else.

Pride.

"All right," he said. "But next time, tell me when you're planning to push yourself that hard. So I can be prepared."

"Why do you need to be prepared?"

"Because I feel everything you feel through the bond. When you hit the ground, I feel it. When you get hurt, I feel it. So if you're going to throw yourself at Kieran like that, I need to know."

She'd forgotten about that. Forgotten that every bruise she earned, he felt.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just warn me next time."

She nodded.

Cerys finished bandaging her lip. "You're good to go. Try not to get hit in the face again."

"I'll try."

They left the healing rooms. Torrhen walked her back to her quarters.

"You did well today," he said.

"I fell thirty times."

"And you got up thirty one times. That's what matters."

She looked at him. "You really think I can learn this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you have something most fighters don't."

"What's that?"

"Nothing to lose."

The words hit harder than they should have. Because he was right. She had nothing to lose. No family. No home. No past worth protecting.

Just a future she was trying to build.

"Tomorrow we work on offense," Torrhen said. "No more falling. Time to make other people fall."

She smiled despite the pain in her lip. "I'd like that."

"Get some rest. You'll need it."

He left. Brynn went inside and collapsed on the bed. Every muscle ached. Every bruise throbbed. But underneath the pain was something else.

Satisfaction.

She'd fought today. Really fought. Not just survived. Not just endured.

Fought.

And she'd get better. Stronger. Faster.

Until no one could hurt her again.

Until she was more than the girl who'd spent ten years on her knees.

She closed her eyes and let the exhaustion pull her under.

And for the first time since arriving in Ashford, she dreamed of the future instead of the past.