Ronan’s POV

The air after a fight always carried a certain charge; sweat, metal, the faint hum of adrenaline refusing to fade. But this time, the air felt… different.

It wasn’t just the fight that had my pulse refusing to settle.

It was him.

Arden stood at the far end of the training ring, his posture as composed as ever, his breathing even. Too even. There was blood at the edge of his lip — mine, I realized belatedly, but he didn’t wipe it off. He just stared down at the mat like ...