Lira's training shifted overnight.
Seren no longer barked commands—she whispered them like secrets meant for only Lira to hear. The sessions weren't longer, but they drained her deeper, carving new instincts into her bones. Every move was a lesson. Every mistake, a threat.
"You want to protect him?" Seren asked once, eyes unreadable. "Then become something worth fearing."
Lira didn't flinch. "I will."
She trained with silent rage, her breath syncing with her blade. She learned how to watch the room without looking, how to strike where it hurts most—not the body, but the resolve.
Kael watched from a distance now. Seren rarely allowed them in the same space. When they did cross paths, their eyes said what their lips couldn't: Hold on. Don't break. Not yet.
But cracks deepened.
Guards whispered her name like it was dangerous. A few bowed. Others watched with narrowed suspicion.
One night, Lira overheard them.
"She's not one of us."
"She's hers. Seren's little weapon."
"She'll turn."
That was the moment it clicked.
The enemy wasn't just Seren. It wasn't the people who imprisoned her.
It was inside the rebellion. In the quiet doubts. In the shifting gazes. In the loyalty she could no longer trust.
**Lira hadn't just stepped into the trap.
She was becoming it.**