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Uldrek positioned himself in front of me. "I'm going to take your wrist," he said. "Not hard. But I want you to feel what it's like to break that hold."

I tensed instinctively.

"We can try something else," he offered, noting my reaction.

"No." I lifted my chin slightly. "Show me."

He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded once. "Hold your arm out."

I did, palm up, trying to ignore the slight tremor in my fingers.

Uldrek reached forward slowly, telegraphing each movement. His hand closed around my wrist—warm, calloused, much larger than mine. His grip was firm but not painful, nothing like the bruising clutch I'd felt in the market, even though he could’ve crushed my arm without effort.

Still, I flinched.

He didn't let go, but his hold gentled immediately. "You're alright," he said, his voice low and even. "Breathe through it."

I forced myself to inhale deeply, then exhale. Once, twice. His hand remained steady around my wrist, neither tightening nor pulling away.

"Good," he said. "Now, the instinct is to pull back. Don't. That's what they expect. Instead—" he adjusted his stance slightly, "—you turn into it. Step toward me, twist your arm down and to the right. Like breaking a stick."

He guided me through the motion slowly. It felt unnatural at first, counterintuitive. But as we repeated it, I began to understand the leverage, the way my body could create space even against a stronger opponent.

"Again," Uldrek said after each attempt. "Smoother this time."

By the fifth try, I could feel the difference. The movement was becoming more fluid, more confident. On the seventh, I twisted a fraction faster than he anticipated, and his grip broke completely.

A small, fierce burst of triumph bloomed in my chest.

"Again," I said before he could.

Uldrek's mouth curved in what might have been approval. "Alright."

This time, he grabbed my wrist more firmly—still controlled, but with intent. I stepped into it immediately, twisting down and away as he'd shown me. His grip broke cleanly.

"Once more," he said. "This time, after you break, move back. Create distance."

We tried it again. Break the hold, step back, ready stance. My body was warming to the rhythm now, the unfamiliar movements becoming less awkward with each repetition.

"What if there's no space to step back?" I asked, thinking practically.

"Then you make space," Uldrek replied. He demonstrated a variation—break the hold, then use the momentum to push the attacker off balance. "But that's for next time. You've done enough for today."

I wanted to argue, to push for more. But my muscles were already aching with the unaccustomed strain, and Ellie was beginning to fuss on her blanket, tired of lying in the sun.

We stretched in silence, cooling down as Uldrek had insisted we must. The quiet between us felt different now—less wary, more comfortable. My breathing had slowed to normal, but something else lingered in my blood. A feeling I'd almost forgotten: capability.

As I bent to touch my toes, I noticed the tattoo on Uldrek's forearm—dark lines forming an intricate pattern resembling claw marks wrapped in vines. One of several that marked his skin, though this one seemed more deliberate than the others.

"What's that one for?" I asked before I could think better of it.

Uldrek glanced down at his arm, his expression unreadable.

"West of the Verdant Pass," he said after a moment. "Shadowbeast ambush. I took the last one down with a broken spear and one good leg."

There was no pride in his voice, just a matter-of-factness that made me believe him.

"Why mark it?"

He shrugged, a slight lift of one shoulder. "Because I lived. That's the point."

I studied his face—the planes and angles of it, the faint scars that spoke of battles I could barely imagine. There was a solidness to him that had nothing to do with his size. A steadiness built from having faced the worst and survived it.

"Do you have others?" I asked. "Marks for battles?"

"A few." He rolled his shoulder, working out a kink. "Some for kills that mattered. Some for places I never thought I'd leave."

I hesitated, then: "Any you didn't mark?"

Uldrek's eyes met mine, something shifting in their golden depths. "Yeah," he said finally. "The ones I didn't want to remember."

The simplicity of it struck me. We all carried unmarked battles—the ones that left no visible scars, the ones we couldn't speak of even to ourselves.

Ellie chose that moment to voice her displeasure more insistently. I moved to her blanket, lifting her into my arms with practiced ease. She settled against me, one small hand clutching at my tunic, the wooden ring still gripped in the other.

"She's had enough for one day," I said, gathering our belongings. "So have I, I think."

Uldrek nodded, watching as I tucked the folded blanket into my satchel. "You did well. Better than most beginners."

"Probably because I'm more motivated than most."

Something like a smile touched his lips. "Fear's a decent teacher. But determination's better."

I adjusted Ellie against my chest, her weight familiar and grounding. The sun was warm on my back, and for the first time in too long, my body felt present, alive with a purpose beyond just escaping.

"Thank you," I said. The words came easier than I'd expected. "For teaching me."

Uldrek inclined his head slightly. "Same time tomorrow?"

I hesitated. "You sure you want to be seen with your fake mate in public again?"

His smile was lopsided, barely there but genuine. "Might help my reputation."

I snorted softly, surprised again by how easily he drew that response from me. "I doubt that."

"You'd be surprised," he replied, amusement warming his voice. "'Look at Wolfsbane, teaching his human mate to fight.' They'll think I'm enlightened."

"Are you?"

"Not even slightly. I just don't like uneven odds."

I nodded, understanding. It wasn't kindness driving him, necessarily. It was fairness—a warrior's practical morality.

As I walked away, Ellie now settled securely in her wrap against my chest, I glanced back once.

Uldrek still stood in the yard, arms folded, watching the empty space where we'd been training.

Then he turned, disappearing into the shade of the pergola, and I continued on my way back to Tinderpost House.

That night, as I lay in bed with Ellie tucked beside me, my muscles ached in unfamiliar ways. Faint bruises traced my forearms where Uldrek had gripped me—but not cruelly. Not like before. They weren’t warnings. They were badges. Effort made visible.

Ellie slept curled against me, her breath warm against my neck. I stroked my fingers gently through the soft wisps of her hair, soothed by the rhythm of her breathing. Safe. Both of us.

I thought of Uldrek’s voice—low, even, just this side of sarcastic. You’re not a tree .

I thought of his scent—leather, faint ash, a trace of something sharp and green, like pine sap after rain. Of how carefully he moved, even when his size should have made it otherwise. How he never reached without asking first. How his humor filled silences that could have frayed.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. More training, certainly. More aches. More quiet glances and unfinished sentences spoken with our bodies rather than words.

But tonight, under the creaking eaves of Tinderpost House, Ellie safe beside me, and my calves still sore from pivoting wrong. I stirred a little beneath the blanket and allowed myself to believe—just a little—that I hadn’t lied in the market.

Not entirely.

Maybe I had chosen right.

And maybe, if I stayed, he would, too.