KELVIN

I walk through the training grounds just past dusk, the air still warm, the sky bruised with fading light. The weapons racks stand silent, the ground littered with old targets and abandoned spears.

I see Adrian ahead, tossing a dagger into a wooden target. The throw is precise, too precise. Tense. It’s the kind of quiet anger I’ve learned to recognize.

My heart pounds in my chest so loud I can feel it in my throat. For two days I have carried this guilt, dread, uncertainty. My fingers clench and unclench as I approach. Adrian doesn’t turn at once, he is always focused when he’s training, and right now,...