He stood frozen in the center of the circle, heart racing, the echo of wind still brushing his skin. Lucien's words lingered in the charged silence.
"How did you do that?"
Ethan met his gaze evenly, his throat tight. Then, calmer than he felt, he answered:
"Why would I tell you something that would give you another edge in the tournament?"
Lucien's grip on his arm tightened—gentle, but firm.
Ethan swallowed around the panic. He needed to stand his ground. He leveled his voice:
"If you can get stronger in a day, then I can get stronger too. I'm not handing you any advantage you weren't already born with."
Lucien's eyes darkened for a moment, but he didn't recoil. Ethan continued:
"And how did you even know I had a new skill?"
He paused, taking a careful breath.
"Something tells me you're hiding your own new skill. One I haven't seen yet."
That got to him. Lucien's arm relaxed ever so slightly. His gaze softened—not in warmth, but with wariness that bordered on respect.
