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The only consolation was that the manual labor in the camp was a picnic compared to the horrors she’d endured in Braderhelm.

Speaking of horrors in Braderhelm…

The symphony of loud grunts guided her to the training area.

About thirty men and women were seated in a large circle, and in the center stood Takeshi. Without a shirt on.

Takeshi’s jet-black hair, tousled and wild, cascaded over his forehead as he demonstrated a fighting maneuver.

The sight made her think of the Adonis statue she’d once seen in Genesis.

His body was a work of art, chiseled not with gentle hands or the luck of genetics, but honed by years of grueling discipline to transform the body into a weapon.

Takeshi was currently engaged in a mock fight with a young woman about Khalani’s age.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and her beige top clung to her chest as Takeshi corrected her stance multiple times.

His touch was brief but precise, guiding her in the same way he’d done with Khalani in Braderhelm.

Even though his hands barely lingered on the woman’s body for more than a split second, Khalani found herself struggling to swallow past the knot in her throat.

But she shook her head, reminding herself that it didn’t matter what Takeshi did or with whom.

He’d made it perfectly clear to her that she was as appealing to him as a rock in his shoe, and what happened between them in Braderhelm was a mistake.

Any interaction on the surface, including the night she’d thrown away her inhibitions and straddled his lap, were momentary lapses of sanity prompted by the effects of heat and loneliness.

In fact, it was preferable for him to cozy up with another girl who was in the mood for heartbreak.

Khalani.

Was.

Just.

Fine.

Thank.

You.

She marched to Patreus, who incessantly scowled as he shouted at the group to pay attention to Takeshi and the girl’s maneuvers.

“Excuse me,” she started.

But Patreus kept yelling, “Be ready to pair off! Remember, we can only achieve peace by defeating the Sinners in totality.”

“Sir, I was sent—”

“Demeter! Are you too tired to pay attention?”

Huffing, Khalani touched Patreus’s arm to get his attention, but he immediately seized her wrist in a sharp grip with one hand while reaching for his pistol with the other.

She stifled a gasp from the bone-crushing pressure on her wrist, but just as quickly as he’d grabbed her, Patreus abruptly released her, as if remembering himself.

“What areyoudoing here?” he demanded.

“I was sent here by Marissa.” Her lips twisted in anger. “She told me to collect any dirty rags that you guys have, but if you don’t need me, I’ll gladly leave.”