At first, it was familiar practice, smooth. Jorn’s movements were sharp but respectful, clearly still gauging how much of her strength had returned. Malachite, meanwhile, moved with confidence… but not quite the same raw speed she’d once had. The days spent healing had dulled some of her reflexes, and she knew it.

  Still, she gave him hell.

  They clashed her shield ringing like thunder, hammer whistling through the air. Jorn ducked a wide swing and countered low, foot sweeping, but Malachite adjusted just in time.

  They locked for a breath shoulder to shoulder then Jorn feinted, slipped around her guard, and used his weight to spin her off balance.

  The ground met her back with a heavy thud.

  A collective gasp then cheers and laughter rose around them.

  Jorn, hands braced lightly on her shoulders, grinned down. “You almost had me.”

  Malachite growled, chest rising and falling with exertion. “I’ll take your kneecaps next time.”

  “You’re still my favorite sparring partner,” he said, voice lower now, playful but with a faint glimmer of something warmer. “Even if I win once in a blue moon.”

  She was just about to shove him off when a sharp voice cut through the crowd.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Jorn looked up.

  Malachite froze.

  Axel stood just beyond the circle of soldiers, arms crossed, eyes narrowed and definitely not amused.

  He was still in his scout leathers, dust from the tunnels clinging to his boots, but his focus was entirely on them. Or more specifically, on Jorn still hovering over Malachite like he didn’t value his life.

  The crowd began to quiet, sensing the tension shift.

  Jorn, to his credit, stepped back quickly and offered a hand to help Malachite up. “No offense, Commander,” he muttered. “Didn’t realize we were being… observed.”

  Malachite grabbed his hand, pulled herself up, and brushed off her armor cheeks flushed, but not just from exertion.

  “I can explain,” she started, eyes flicking between Axel and Jorn.

  Axel raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

  Before Malachite could even gather a breath, another voice slithered in saccharine and sharp as ever.

  Elise, standing just a little too close to Axel, smirked and said sweetly, “Not surprised the little drake lost. Guess the forge hasn't sharpened everything back into shape.”

  Malachite’s fists clenched, her jaw tightening, but Axel turned, his mouth already opening to shut Elise down only for Jorn to step in first, voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

  “Explain what, exactly?” he said, tone easy, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Why are you so mad, Commander? It’s just us sparring. Why’s it such a big deal?”

  Malachite’s eyes went wide, her stomach twisting. “Jorn-”

  But he was already moving.

  Like it was nothing, like it was perfectly casual, he slung an arm over her shoulders. The gesture was one they’d shared a dozen times before but this time, this time… there was weight behind it. Purpose.

  He didn’t look at Malachite.

  He looked at Axel.

  Directly. Calmly. Unapologetically.

  And smiled.

  The unspoken challenge shimmered in the air like heat off stone.

  Axel’s eyes flicked to the arm on Malachite’s shoulder. His jaw flexed once. Then again.

  And the whole training ground held its breath.

  Axel didn’t move at first.

  He just stood there, jaw tight, eyes unreadable, the weight of the moment pressing against his chest like armor that didn’t quite fit.

  Jorn’s arm was still draped over Malachite’s shoulders, all easy charm and mock innocence, but Axel saw the glint beneath it, the silent question in his stare. Do you care? Will you say anything?

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  Axel let out a slow breath through his nose.

  He didn’t rise to it. Not fully.

  Instead, he walked forward, just enough to close the distance. His voice, when it came, was low and measured but it carried.

  “I’m not mad,” Axel said, finally. “Just surprised.”

  His gaze flicked to Jorn, then back to Malachite. “Didn’t know the break was for full combat drills.”

  Malachite stiffened slightly under Jorn’s arm.

  Jorn raised his brows. “Well, if she wanted to hit me harder, I wouldn’t have stopped her.”

  Axel’s jaw ticked again, but he stayed still. Stayed calm.

  “I’m sure,” he said coolly.

  There was a pause thick, uncertain. Malachite glanced sideways at Axel, something unreadable crossing her face.

  Then Axel added, voice quieter, “I’m glad you’re strong enough to spar again.”

  And he meant it.

  Truly.

  But it still sounded like goodbye.

  He gave her a single, respectful nod then turned, not sparing Elise a glance and walked off toward the far side of the training grounds, heat lingering in his wake like something unsaid.

  Axel hadn’t gone far.

  “Axel,” Malachite called after him not loudly, but enough that his steps faltered.

  He stopped.

  So did Elise, turning her head with that ever-present smirk playing on her lips. But it wasn’t her name that had been called, and it wasn’t her voice that had asked him to stop.

  Axel turned, slow, eyes locking with Malachite’s across the training grounds.

  Just the sight of her, flushed from the spar, Jorn’s arm still draped lazily across her shoulders sent a flicker of something raw across his face. Hurt. Resentment. Yearning. All tangled in the hollow of his chest like smoke that couldn’t clear.

  Before anyone could speak, Axel’s back was halfway turned when Jorn made his little quip.

  “I’ll see you for that dinner tonight.”

  Malachite didn’t flinch, but Axel froze.

  His head tilted, slowly. Deliberately.

  And when he turned around this time, the smile was gone. The restraint was gone.

  He stared at Malachite, not with fury, but with something deeper. Wounded. Raw.

  “Nice necklace,” he said, voice edged with something sharp and unfamiliar. “Let me guess, a gift from your dinner date?”

  The soldiers nearby grew quiet.

  Malachite blinked, her fingers brushing reflexively over the crystal at her chest, the one Imogen had wrapped for her not an hour ago.

  Axel scoffed under his breath. “Makes sense, I guess. Why you didn’t want me hanging around.”

  “Axel-” she started, but her throat caught on the rest.

  He didn’t wait.

  “I get it,” he said, softer now, but no less cutting. “You don’t feel the same pull. Doesn’t mean I don’t.”

  And with that, he turned again.

  This time for good.

  The only sound left behind was the echo of his boots against the stone and the distant creak of the forge gates as they shut behind him.

  Malachite stood in the center of the training ring, silent, crystal warm against her skin… and the crowd around her gave her space, like the heartbreak was something sacred.

  Even Jorn stepped back.

  Axel’s boots had barely hit the stone path when Malachite’s voice rang out behind him sharp, clear, and furious.

  “Oh, so I’m the problem now?”

  He froze.

  Slowly turned.

  She was already storming across the training ring, eyes blazing, chest heaving.

  “You get to walk around with Elise hanging all over you like a heat-sick viper, and I’m not supposed to say a word. But I spar with someone I’ve trained with since I could walk and suddenly I’m the villain?”

  Axel opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him the chance.

  “Jorn’s been my sparring partner for years. Years, Axel. Before the war, before the surge, before you came into my life. And you think one training match and a dinner offer means something happened? Or that I don’t care about you?”

  Axel's expression faltered.

  And Malachite pressed forward, eyes burning.

  “You think this necklace is cheap?” she snapped, hand rising to touch the crystal at her throat. “My mother gave it to me before she died. I’ve carried it my entire life. I didn’t know how to wear it until Imogen found a way to make it into a necklace. She said it deserved to be seen.”

  She took another step toward him, voice softening slightly, exasperated “I thought you’d like it.”

  Axel’s chest rose and fell, breath catching like he’d just taken a punch.

  Jorn, who had been watching with vague amusement at first, straightened. His easy grin faded entirely. He stepped back slightly, lifting his hands like he didn’t want to be in the middle of something clearly not casual. The look on his face made it clear this wasn’t some harmless crush he was teasing her about anymore. This was real.

  Malachite wasn’t done.

  “If you’re going to be mad at me,” she said, voice shaking now, “then be mad. But don’t pretend like it’s because of some necklace. Or a spar. You’re not angry about that.”

  Axel swallowed hard, throat working as he tried and failed to speak.

  Malachite’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, her expression raw.

  “You’re mad because I didn’t chase you when you walked away.”

  Silence stretched.

  And then, almost hoarsely she added, “But you didn’t chase me either.”

  Axel looked gutted. Completely, utterly undone.

  Axel’s voice softened, the heat bleeding into hurt.

  “I didn’t mean what I said about the necklace,” he murmured. “I knew it wasn’t from Jorn the second I saw it. I just… I wanted it to be. Because that’d be easier than believing you wore it for me.”

  Malachite didn’t answer.

  She just stood there, expression unreadable, like if she moved too fast, the whole fragile moment would collapse.