I leaned against his chest. To my relief, his arms encircled me, wrapping me in a warm strength that chased the tears from my eyes and the tightness from my throat. I might have Res, but he was the last of his kind, and he wouldn’t live forever. One day, the crows would disappear for good.

Something shattered, and we both leapt. Behind Caylus, Gio sat on the workbench edge, his paw outstretched, disinterested yellow eyes staring at the broken remains of the beaker he’d knocked to the floor.

Caylus grabbed a towel from the workbench to deal with the glass. The moment he stepped away, I felt his heat leave with him, and I almost reached out to pull him back. Instead, I touched the drawing of me as a rider, the paper rough beneath my fingertips, and felt a spark of something come to life deep inside me. I breathed deeply, and it grew with my breath, smoldering, steady, strong.

“You can keep that if you want.” He didn’t look at me, but the back of his neck was red as he scooped up the glass.

I folded the paper and tucked it in a pocket, the image imprinted on the back of my eyelids. Was that how he saw me? A warrior cloaked in shadows, the night itself standing sentry at my back?

Was that who I could be?

I resolved to pay more attention the rest of the day. Caylus had apparently been preparing to mix a powerful acid, and while the idea of making liquid fire made my skin crawl, I slid on a pair of thick, elbow-length gloves and set to helping.

* * *

After dinner, I changed into my flying leathers and met Ericen down at the training grounds, leaving Kiva sitting at the dining room table with Auma, playing a game I’d never seen before involving painted cards.

The training grounds were empty, the first wisps of evening mist coiling over the castle corridors and down along the grass. Ericen was already running through drills with a practice sword in one of the rings. I blinked. He was shirtless.

Lean, corded muscle pulled taut with every motion, his movements tight and controlled. I felt my eyes widen reflexively before wiping the expression off my face a second before he spotted me.

“No uniform tonight?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He smirked, as if knowing he’d unsettled me. “Centerian fights are shirtless. Makes it easier to see the blood.”

“Of course. That’s very important.”

He offered me a hand, and I grasped it, letting him haul me into the ring with an ease that made my heart stumble. This was not going to be an easy fight.

Up close, the torchlight illuminated countless tiny scars flecking his pale skin from years of training, including those along his biceps and forearms, layered in even, clean lines. Like Razel’s.