The smell of scorched air hung heavy between them.
Elysia adjusted her stance, drawing in a steady breath. Her chest rose and fell with effort, each inhale thick with heat and ash. Sweat clung to her brow, dampening the collar of her black combination outfit.
Her palms burned—not from pain, but from the lingering echo of her own fire, still pulsing beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.
Across the training circle, Malvoria stood perfectly composed, arms at her sides, her expression unreadable.
So far, Malvoria had only been reacting dodging, redirecting, occasionally deflecting. Never attacking. Never pushing back.
It was infuriating.
And obvious.
"You're holding back," Elysia said, her voice sharper than she intended.
Malvoria tilted her head, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. "Am I?"
"Don't play dumb. I know what your flames feel like. You haven't even used your left hand."
Malvoria stepped forward, the air shifting around her. "You're not ready."
