The flames vanish as quickly as they appeared, leaving behind a residual warmth and a lingering smell of scorched fabric. Around us, the assessment continues, no one having noticed the brief flare of magic. If they did, they must have assumed it was Raith’s magic.

Raith recovers quickly, pinning me again with even more force than before, his body a rigid cage around mine. But something has changed. There's tension in him that wasn't there before—a wariness that borders on genuine caution.

"Yield. Do it, or I’ll make you pass out this time. Your choice."

I meet his eyes, seeing questions there that mirror my own. What just happened? How did I do that? Why did he react that way? The moment stretches between us, heavy with unspoken suspicions.

"I yield," I finally gasp, the words scraping my raw throat.

His face returns to its usual mask of cold indifference, but his eyes still flare hot as they track my every movement.

I roll to my side, coughing and gasping for air that burns in my raw throat. My whole body trembles with exhaustion, muscles quivering like I've run for miles without stopping. Sweat drips from my hairline, running across my face in tickling paths and soaking my clothes.

All I want to do is curl up and fall asleep right there on the mat, but I force myself to stand, pulling up my body that desperately resists my every movement.

Don’t let them see weakness. Not here.

"Winner, Raith," announces the fire instructor, who claps him on the back like they're already friends, oblivious to whatever just transpired between us.

The water instructor has already moved his attention to other matches, my poor performance clearly not worth his time. Maybe I lost so badly he doesn't even see the purpose in giving me advice.

As we step off the platform, Raith leans close, his breath hot against my ear. "Watch yourself, Saltcrest."

I'm too exhausted to produce an elegant response. All I manage is a choked "huh?"

His voice drops to a dangerous whisper that sends a chill down my spine despite his unnatural warmth. "You channeled fire. I saw it. I felt it."

I shake my head, heart racing anew. Admitting anything close to a vulnerability would be a mistake, so I say nothing.

"What are you?" he presses, one hand gripping my upper arm to keep me from escaping, his fingers burning against my skin.

"Sore, actually. From where you tried to choke me," I deflect, lifting my chin to meet his gaze despite the trembling that's started in my legs.

Now the suspicion in his expression shifts, replaced by a fiery, dangerous kind of amusement that transforms his features. "I could've done a hell of a lot more than make you sore, Thorne."

"Like what? Kill me?"

He considers my suggestion casually. "Maybe. If you give me a reason.”

"Like I said on the mat. Fuck. You."