The moment Everly's balance gave out, Ethan was already moving—his stride smooth, purposeful, instinctual.
He caught her before her knees fully buckled, one arm bracing behind her back while the other steadied her side, holding her upright like he'd already calculated the fall and adjusted his steps in advance.
There was no hesitation. No panic. Just movement—fluid, practiced, confident. The kind of movement that didn't ask for attention but commanded presence anyway.
Professor Deyna didn't smile or offer a warm, congratulatory line. She simply gave a nod—one of those slow, deliberate gestures that said more than a whole speech might have.
"Right instinct," she said, eyes shifting from Ethan to Everly with calm detachment. "Healing's not about taking pain. It's about carrying it just long enough to pass it back."
Everly's face was pale, her jaw tight from the strain. The muscle beneath her cheek twitched once. She didn't gasp or cry out. S
