Mary Ann’s POV
Modric’s shoulder worsened three days before the final trial.
I knew before Elara said anything.
The bond carried the pain he tried to hide from everyone else. It pulsed through me whenever he lifted his left arm, sharp enough to make my own shoulder tense in response.
Still, Modric continued training.
By the time I reached the private training yard that morning, Kylian had already knocked the practice blade from his hand twice. Sweat darkened Modric’s shirt, and blood had begun spreading beneath the bandage near his shoulder.
Neither man noticed me at first.
“Again,” Modric said.
Kylian lowered his weapon.
“No.”
Modric’s eyes flashed silver.
“I gave an order.”
“And I am refusing it.”
“You refuse too many orders.”
“You give too many stupid ones.”
Modric reache
