FAYE
The rhythm of training settled quickly once I stepped in.
It always did.
There was something about structure—about movement, correction, repetition—that made everything else fall into place without effort. No overthinking. No second-guessing. Just action and response.
I walked between the trainees slowly, my gaze moving from one pair to another, catching the small things.
A foot placed too far forward.
A grip too tight.
A strike thrown with more force than control.
“Again,” I said, not raising my voice, but it carried anyway.
They reset.
I stopped beside one of them and reached out, tapping lightly against his shoulder. “Relax this,” I said. “You’re locking yourself up before you even move.”
He nodded quickly. “Yes, Luna.”
I stepped away before he could overcorrect, lettin
