The pressure did not just fall.
It grew. The cool air of the big room turned into a thick, heavy fog. Standing on the stone platform, the weight of Instructor Morgana's presence made the space around us feel tight, like the air itself did not want us to breathe.
To my left, Arthur's hand moved toward the handle of his sword. His gold eyes were sharp, already watching her stance. To my right, Riven was like a tight spring. His fingers twitched near his belt where his two daggers hung.
His gaze was dark, focused, and very competitive.
And me?
My hand rested light on the wrapped handle of Tempest, my katana. Even inside its cover, the blade felt alive, humming a little, like it was reacting to the heavy air filling the room. I kept my other hand deep in my pocket, trying to stop my fingers from shaking.
Fucking hell. I just had to open my mouth.
