This time, when Marcus attacked, Arianna didn't just defend—she fought back.

Her movements were still clumsy, untrained, but there was a new ferocity behind them. When Marcus's fist came toward her face, she didn't just block—she grabbed his wrist and tried to twist, the way she'd seen him do earlier. He broke free easily, but there was surprise in his eyes.

"Better," he said. "Much better. Again."

They continued, and with each exchange, Arianna felt something shifting inside her. The careful control she'd maintained since arriving at the citadel was cracking, and beneath it lived months—no, years—of suppressed anger. Anger at being treated as a political pawn. Anger at the...