"You've grown quite a bit sharper with that javelin of yours," Mabel remarked, glancing down at Liam. Her left hand rested on her hip while her right hand, still gripping her sword, balanced it casually on her shoulder.
Liam sat on the marble floor, his left arm resting on his raised knee while his right hand propped him up from behind. His head leaned back, breathing measured and steady. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dampening strands of his dark, red-streaked hair and causing some to cling to his face.
Their spar had been intense—not beyond his capacity, but enough to push him. The real challenge hadn't been the spar itself but the way Mabel once again increased her strength without warning, a clear sign that there were layers to her power he had yet to see. Still, rather than frustration, it only made him more engaged.
"Yeah… thanks to you. I guess," Liam finally said, his voice calm, eyes still closed.
