Mara was starting to understand why the men in this world moved the way they did.
It wasn't just their coldness or control; she'd understood those traits early on.
It was their efficiency. Nico never wasted a single movement. Every step he took and every shift of his weight was intentional, like a man who had decided long ago that his body was a tool, and tools could not afford to be careless.
She understood it now because he'd been trying to take her down for forty minutes and she was still standing… barely.
"You're dropping your left shoulder," he said. "Every time."
"I'm aware," Mara said, breathing harder than she wanted to.
"Then stop."
"I'm trying."
"Try differently."
She reset her stance exactly as he had shown her: feet shoulder-width apart, weight forward, and hands up.
