DYER Bodie returns at dusk.

I know it before anyone announces him. The den shifts when he crosses the boundary, guards straighten, voices lower, the air tightening with the quiet expectation that always follows him back from long searches. Hope has a scent. So does disappointment. This time, it is the latter.

I am in the lower training hall, bare-handed, working through forms my body knows better than thought. Sweat slicks my spine, muscles burning in a way that keeps the mind honest. I finish ...