chapter 5

Kade does not waste time once he decides to start. The shift in his posture is the only warning I get, and even that comes too late to prepare properly. One moment he is standing a few feet away, watching me, and the next his hand is already at my throat.

I react on instinct. My body turns before my mind catches up, forcing his grip off line instead of meeting it directly. I step back to create space, but he closes it just as fast, catching my wrist and twisting hard enough to pull me off balance.

“Too slow,” he says.

I wrench free and put distance between us, my footing adjusting before I fully settle. “You could have said you were starting.”

“You would have prepared for it.”

“That’s the point.”

“No,” he replies. “That’s the problem.”

He comes at me again without pause. This time I track the movement better, but not well enough. I block high, expecting another direct strike, and he shifts mid-motion, sweeping my leg out from under me and sending me down hard.

I catch myself on one hand before my shoulder hits fully, then push up immediately.

“Again,” he says.

Annoyance hits first, sharp and immediate. “If your version of teaching is trying to break my neck, say it clearly.”

“If I wanted to break it, you wouldn’t be talking.”

That answer does not help.

He waits just long enough to make the pause deliberate, then stills completely. I shift my footing, more careful this time, forcing myself to watch instead of anticipate too early.

“You said I was holding back.”

“You are.”

“I’m standing.”

“You’re surviving.” His gaze sharpens slightly. “That’s not the same thing.”

The pressure in my chest stirs, subtle but steady, like it is reacting to the words more than I am.

Kade notices.

“Good,” he says quietly. “Now stop thinking.”

He moves again.

This time I don’t wait. The moment he closes distance, I pivot instead of retreating, forcing his strike past me. He catches my forearm before I can slip free and uses my own movement against me, dragging me forward and driving his elbow toward my side.

I twist just enough to avoid the worst of it, but the impact still catches high in my ribs.

Pain flashes.

I don’t pull away from it.

Instead of falling back, I drive forward into his center and force a gap between us.

That makes him pause.

Only briefly.

“Better,” he says.

My breathing is heavier now, not from exhaustion, but from the pace he’s setting. He isn’t giving me time to process anything, and I’m starting to understand that this is intentional. He doesn’t want controlled technique yet.

He wants response.

Kade circles once, slow enough to make me track him and fast enough to keep me from settling.

“You’re still fighting like someone who expects the ground to hold still,” he says.

“The ground is holding still.”

“Not in a real fight.”

“This isn’t a real fight?”

He looks almost amused. “Not yet.”

He moves again.

The strike comes lower this time. I catch it late, adjust badly, and take the hit across my shoulder instead of turning it aside. The force pushes me back, and before I can recover, he closes in again, catches my wrist, and drives me down hard enough to force me to one knee.

I shove his arm off and push up, anger sharper now.

“Stop trying to overpower everything,” he says.

“I’m not overpowering anything.”

“You are every time you panic.”

I go still.

“I’m not panicking.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re doing something worse. You’re pretending you’re not.”

That lands harder than the hits.

I don’t answer.

Kade studies me for a moment, then steps back slightly. “Again.”

This time I move first.

I don’t try to read too far ahead. I close the distance, aiming for control instead of impact and forcing him to react instead of leading. He shifts, and I follow without hesitation.

That part feels different now.

Cleaner.

Faster.

He catches my arm and tries to turn me with it, but I drop lower instead of resisting high, breaking his angle just enough to slip free.

He lets go.

I turn with the motion and strike toward his side.

He blocks it, but not cleanly.

The contact is brief, more proof than damage.

That makes him stop.

The silence that follows feels measured instead of empty.

Kade straightens slowly. “There it is.”

I keep my breathing steady. “There’s what?”

“The difference.” He tilts his head slightly. “You stopped reacting to me. For a second, you moved like you already knew where I’d be.”

The pressure in my chest shifts again, deeper now, steadier.

“I didn’t know.”

“No,” he says. “You felt it.”

That puts me on edge again. “You keep saying that like it explains something.”

“It does.”

“Not enough.”

He doesn’t argue. “Then prove it to yourself.”

“How?”

“Stop waiting for it to make sense.”

That answer is just as frustrating as the rest of them.

I’m about to say so when something changes.

Not in him.

Around us.

Kade feels it at the same time. His focus shifts past me, subtle but clear enough for me to catch.

“What is it?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Then, “We’re done.”

That sharpens everything in me. “Why?”

“Because we’re not alone anymore.”

Movement breaks through the trees to our right before the words fully settle.

Fast.

Too fast to be careless.

I turn just as the first wolf lunges.

This one is larger than the last group, heavier through the shoulders and faster despite it. I shift aside, but the strike still catches my arm hard enough to throw off my balance.

Kade moves at the same time.

He intercepts the second wolf mid-lunge and redirects it with brutal precision, driving it into the ground hard enough to shake the dirt beneath my feet.

There are four of them this time.

No hesitation.

No wasted motion.

This is not intimidation.

It is execution.

The first wolf comes again. I duck low, pivot, and drive forward instead of away, forcing it to adjust mid-strike. Its claws catch fabric instead of skin, and I use the opening to shove hard through its shoulder, breaking its line.

Another one closes in from the left.

I feel it before I fully see it.

That same sharpened awareness returns, not panic, not fear, but clarity. Movement separates into patterns, angles locking into place before I consciously process them.

I drop, turn, and avoid the hit by inches.

The wolf overshoots.

I come up inside its reach and slam into it hard enough to disrupt its footing.

“Don’t stop moving,” Kade says, and this time there is force in his voice.

I don’t.

The third wolf comes in low. I catch it too late to avoid cleanly, but not too late to brace. The impact knocks me sideways, pain cutting through my hip as I hit the ground and roll.

I’m up again before the thought finishes.

No pause.

That lesson stuck.

One of the wolves is still down from Kade’s hit, struggling to recover. The other three adjust instantly, spacing out instead of crowding.

Smarter.

Good.

That means they can still be broken.

The pressure in my chest surges, then steadies.

Not chaotic.

Aligned.

My wolf pushes forward, stronger now, not fully there but no longer distant. It feels like standing with something beside me instead of carrying it buried inside.

Everything narrows.

The nearest wolf lunges.

I move before it completes the motion.

Not backward.

Through.

I tighten the angle, catch its momentum at the shoulder, and send it off course. It recovers quickly, but the formation has already shifted, and that is enough for Kade to take the opening.

He drives one wolf into another, breaking both positions at once.

For one clean second, the space opens.

“Run,” he says.

I don’t argue.

I move.

Branches snap underfoot as I push through the trees, this time not blindly, not desperate, but with direction forming ahead of me as I move. The sounds behind me follow almost immediately.

Kade is close.

“They’re tracking scent,” he says.

“I figured.”

“Then break the line.”

I shift direction immediately, angling downhill instead of staying level. The ground gives under my feet, but I adjust faster than before, keeping my balance even as the slope steepens.

A narrow stream cuts across the base.

I hit it without slowing and push through the water, letting the current break the trail before climbing the opposite bank.

“Other side,” Kade says.

I don’t look back.

I keep moving until the sounds behind us change, hesitation replacing certainty for a brief moment.

Then nothing.

We don’t stop until the trees close in again and the silence returns in fragments instead of all at once.

My breathing is rough now.

No point denying it.

Kade slows first. I stop a few feet away, bracing one hand against the nearest tree.

“That was your version of not wasting time?” I ask.

His expression doesn’t shift. “That was your second lesson.”

I stare at him. “You call that a lesson?”

“You’re still alive.”

I push off the tree and straighten, ignoring the ache in my side. “You’re impossible.”

“No,” he says. “I’m useful. There’s a difference.”

That almost gets a reaction out of me.

Almost.

“They’re getting faster,” I say.

“They’re getting better instructions.”

That stills me completely. “From who?”

Kade holds my gaze for a moment before answering. “That’s the question you should be asking.”

The pressure in my chest settles again, steady and present.

This is bigger than removal.

Bigger than the bond.

And if they’re willing to keep sending wolves into the Expanse for me, then whatever changed in that clearing matters more than I thought.

Kade turns first. “Move. They’ll try again.”

This time, I follow without asking.

Because now I understand something clearly.

They are not trying to punish me.

They are trying to make sure I don’t survive long enough to become a problem.