Veyra moved through the training grounds with measured, precise motions, her staff slicing through the air as if each strike could drive the bond from her mind. She had expected that keeping busy would dull it, that physical exertion could distract her from the constant pull in her chest, but every movement only seemed to make it stronger. Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, aware and restless, mirroring her tension. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus on the rhythm of the strikes, the pivot of her feet, the exacting precision of her rotations. Sweat traced lines down her arms, but she barely noticed it, too consumed by the tug she refused to name.From the edge of the courtyard, Malric watched silently, leaning lightly on the long staff in his hands. He had not moved closer yet, allowing Veyra the illusion of distance, but even from where he stood, the bond reacted to him, pulling like a tide against the shore of her control. His amber eyes were steady, unwavering
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