Petal's POV

The morning air was cold enough to sting.

Dew clung to the grass, turning every step into a whisper. I reached the east hall before sunrise, the sky still half-dark, the stars fading like embers being swallowed by dawn.

Aslaan was already there.

He stood shirtless in the open courtyard, his skin glistening with the pale sheen of early light. His breath fogged in the cold, steady and rhythmic, his movements precise slow sparring drills with a wooden staff. Each motion was ...