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The way he says my false name carries a subtle emphasis that sends ice down my spine. He releases my wrist and steps back, addressing the class again.

“Miss Winters demonstrates the danger of theoretical knowledge without practical application. A competent opponent would exploit no fewer than fourteen weaknesses in her form.”

He turns away, dismissing me back to my seat. As I return, I notice my wrist bears a faint red mark where his fingers gripped me. Not a bruise—more like a… sunburn.

The remaining students complete their demonstrations, but Dayn’s attention continues to drift back to me periodically throughout the session. Each time our eyes meet, I feel an unsettling pull, like standing too close to a powerful magnet. It takes conscious effort not to react, not to let my disguise slip.

As the class nears its end, Dayn returns to the center of the arena. “Combat is not a subject learned from books or demonstrations. It requires practical application under real conditions. Therefore, each of you will be assigned to shadow one of Heathborne’s security personnel for the remainder of the semester.”

Murmurs of surprise ripple through the room. This wasn’t mentioned in any of the materials I studied during mission preparation.

“These assignments are not negotiable,” he continues, producing a list from thin air. He begins reading names and assignments, each pairing seemingly random until he reaches mine.

“Clara Winters,” he says, his burning gaze fixing directly on me once more. The room falls unusually quiet. “You will mentor under Senior Guard Mazrov.”

The air constricts around me, a collective intake of breath from the other students. Beside me, Patricia gasps softly.

“That’s never happened before,” she whispers. “No one gets assigned to Mazrov. He doesn’t take students.”

I keep my expression blank despite the alarm bells ringing in my mind. This can’t be coincidence. Either Dayn somehow knows something about my true purpose, or some twisted fate has just delivered exactly what I came for, wrapped in the most dangerous package possible.

Dayn continues reading names, but his eyes linger on me for a moment longer, something like amusement flickering in their molten depths. When he finally looks away, I feel as though I’ve been released from a physical grip.

As class concludes, students file out with nervous chatter about their assignments. I deliberately take my time gatheringmy things, monitoring Dayn from my peripheral vision. He stands perfectly still at the center of the arena, watching the exodus with predatory patience.

I’m nearly at the door when his voice cuts through the diminishing noise.

“Miss Winters. A moment.”

The few remaining students shoot me pitying glances as they hurry out, leaving us alone in the cavernous room. I turn, maintaining Clara’s hesitant demeanor despite every instinct urging me to leave.

Dayn approaches with that same measured grace, stopping just close enough to be uncomfortable. Up close, the heat emanating from him is even more pronounced, as if his skin barely contains some internal inferno.

“Mazrov can be...” he pauses, searching for the word, “difficult. Many find his methods extreme.”

“I’ll adapt, sir,” I respond, keeping my voice appropriately deferential.

His head tilts slightly, studying me with unsettling intensity. “Yes, I believe you will. Adaptation seems to be your specialty.”

My cheeks feel hotter, though whether from his proximity or my own rising nerves, I can’t tell.

“Is there a particular reason you selected me for this assignment?” I ask, allowing just enough nervousness into my voice to seem natural.

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans slightly closer, and I catch a trace of cinnamon and smoke on his breath. “Let’s call it intuition, Miss Winters. I’ve found that the most interesting students benefit from the most challenging circumstances.”

“Right, sir,” I manage, fighting the urge to step back.

“You’ll receive notice of your schedule with him soon.” He turns away, dismissing me without another word.

And I wonder exactly how I will receive that.Through another note under my door?

As I exit the stifling heat of the classroom into the relatively cool corridor, my mind races. This assignment puts me exactly where I need to be—close to Mazrov, with legitimate access to his routines and vulnerabilities. It’s an intelligence goldmine, the kind of opportunity that would normally take weeks to manufacture.

But Dayn…What on earth is he, and what is he playing at?

There was recognition in those burning eyes, some awareness that saw past my carefully constructed facade. Enough to expose me? I don’t know. His interest deeply unsettles me. At the very least, it’s enough to mark me for special attention. And special attention is the last thing an infiltrator needs.

What I know for certain is I need to finish this and get out as soon as possible. Because it appears two predators now circle me in this den of enemies—one I came to hunt, and one I never saw coming.