He didn’t flinch.

I stood over Val, staff still in hand, sweat clinging to his skin like a second layer. His chest rose and fell fast, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—never blinked. Didn’t back down.

He was the smallest in the group, half the weight of the others, narrow shoulders, barely enough muscle to swing a decent strike. But something about the way he moved…

It wasn’t just speed.

It was instinct.

I’d seen it in wolves before. The ones born into war. The ones ...