Closing my hand around nothing, I nodded.

“How?” the demon persisted.

“I... I couldn’t feel his warmth,” I admitted, pulling my hand back and hoping that didn’t sound as weird as I thought it did.

“Demons are the same way,” Roth said. “We give off a lot of heat. If you can feel that, then you know one is close enough to touch. Too close. How about—”

Warmth danced along my skin. I lifted my hand before Roth could even finish. My fingers brushed against something hard and warm. Zayne’s chest. “I felt him get close.”

“Good.” This time it was Zayne who spoke, and I could feel the rumble of his words through my palm.

Without warning, Zayne grasped my arm and spun me around. “Get back into your stance.”

I did just that, spreading my legs and rooting my feet into the mats as I lifted my hands.

“Is he near you?” Roth asked.

I gauged the temperature of the air around me. “No.”

“Correct,” Zayne confirmed. “Concentrate.”

I inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly, focusing on the space around me. Not just for the temperature, but for any movement. There was nothing—and then I felt the slight change in movement around me. A stir of warm air, and this time I didn’t just stand there.

I struck out, hitting nothing. “Dammit!”

“Almost had me,” Zayne said, and my left ear tingled. I spun, kicking out, but he was suddenly at my back, his breath along the nape of my neck. “Almost.”

Spinning, I jabbed out my elbow, but with a whoosh of air, I felt him move to—to my right. I whirled, finding the space empty once more. God, this was making me a little nauseous. I thrust my hand out, and my palm glanced off him.

“Ha!” I shouted, having made contact—weak contact, but contact.

“Almost,” Zayne repeated.

Following the sound of his voice, I stepped forward and found nothing. Frustration piqued, I jumped when I felt the stir of air and landed unbalanced on the balls of my feet.

“Nice,” murmured Roth. “That would’ve been a kick to the legs.”

I smiled.

“Don’t get cocky,” Zayne warned.

The next second proved exactly why I shouldn’t, because I missed Zayne by a mile on the next swing. The next punch I threw was just another glancing blow, as was the one after that and after that.

“Almost.” Zayne danced around me, and I played pin the freaking fist on the Warden.

A game I sucked at.

And I was really beginning to hate the word almost.

“You’re losing your concentration,” he told me. “Take a breath and refocus, Trin.”

“I’m concentrating.” I whipped out a leg, and this time I didn’t come anywhere near him. Anger turned my blood to acid as I moved, seeking Zayne through the pinprick holes.