The early afternoon sun spilled gold through the windows of the training arena, casting long shadows on the dusty floor where Lucien and Damon stood after a round of sparring. Both men were soaked in sweat, breathing heavily, but for once it wasn’t the fight that had Damon wound so tightly—it was something else entirely.

Lucien wiped his brow with a towel and threw a bottle of water at Damon, who caught it mid-air with a grunt. They sat on the edge of the low stone bench in silence for a moment, the air thick with unsaid words.

Lucien finally broke the silence.

"You’ve been off, Damon," he said, not...