The Unspoken Warning
Yana almost couldn't resist punching him.
Her fingers had already curled once, knuckles whitening where they pressed into her knee, tendons taut beneath smooth skin. The impulse came so suddenly it nearly escaped reason. This black-haired peacock had the nerve to insult her training, casually appraise her body in those shameless inner thoughts of his, and then sit there looking innocent, almost elegant, as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
Infuriating.
And yet…
Compared to Julian D'Aurelius's frivolous words, what unsettled her far more was what he had said before.
Overdrawing life force.
Treatment.
Those words had not landed lightly. They struck like hidden needles, slipping beneath calm and piercing somewhere raw.
Her father.
The thought alone made something in her chest tighten.
For a moment, the training grounds, the trees swaying in the mountain breeze, even the distant cries of birds seemed to blur at the edges.
