The days passed like minutes.

  Before she even noticed, Walkyria was already immersed in simpler Contracts and nearly endless training sessions. Sometimes she accompanied Grey on missions; other times, she was pushed to her limits in drills with him or Daisy.

  Daisy, known here by her codename Baroness, was stunningly beautiful. Like Walkyria, her skin had that sun-touched glow, fair but warm, her light brown hair falling in loose waves to mid-back, and her eyes shifting from hazel to green, depending on the light. She might’ve been around Walkyria’s age, perhaps even younger. Smaller, less curvy, but with a fierce agility that had thrown Walkyria to the floor more times than she cared to admit.

  Often quite literally.

  “You need to fix that balance point, Wal.” Baroness circled the woman sprawled on the mat, not even breathless. “Strength means nothing if you lose your footing at the first shove.”

  Walkyria huffed, laughing despite the lack of air.

  “You’re small and cruel, Daisy. I can’t shrink my hips, damn it.”

  The comment drew from Daisy a laugh, sharp, almost wicked.

  “No, you can’t.” She stopped in front of Walkyria and offered her a hand. “That’s exactly why we train.”

  The Court’s training room wasn’t big, but it had everything they needed: worn-out mats, impact targets, weapon racks. Simple. Functional. They had been there only minutes, but it already felt like hours. Daisy dominated the fight, but Walkyria was improving. There was a clear difference since the first time.

  Sitting in a corner near the entrance, Grey watched in silence, absently counting the number of times Walkyria had hit the ground.

  “One more fall and you can pick a song to celebrate.” he remarked, voice laced with humor.

  Walkyria made a face, raising her middle finger toward him and shouting just to make sure he got the message.

  “Go fuck yourself!”

  Grey’s smile only widened.

  The calm was broken by a dry, almost harsh voice beside him:

  “You actually brought the prostitute into the Court.” the tone was low, filled with disdain. “Perfect. Now we’ve got someone to wear the title of Courtesan.”

  Grey exhaled slowly, twisting his lips into a lazy half-smile.

  “Weeks away, and that’s the kind of wisdom you come back with?” He turned toward the man, whose eyes were visibly loaded with contempt for Walkyria. “Try to contain yourself, my dear Marquis. There’s no need to drag the conversation down.”

  “Why not?” The man moved closer, sitting beside him. His eyes never left her. “She came from a brothel.”

  Grey crossed his arms, relaxed.

  “True.” he admitted. “But she never actually worked there. Not the way you imply.”

  The man raised a brow, intrigued.

  “Didn’t she?”

  Grey’s smile returned, brief.

  “No. And when she had to...” his hands rested on his knees, his gaze never leaving the mat. “She was the one who nearly killed that disgusting creature.”

  “Nearly?”

  Grey drew a slow breath, straightening a little.

  “First time.” his tone was firm, though a hint of pride hid behind it. “She did well. Came close, but held herself back.”

  The Marquis only folded his arms, looking toward the arena just as Baroness hit the ground for the first time.

  “Ha! Finally!”

  Walkyria shouted, dripping with sweat but smiling with triumph. She turned to Grey and pointed a finger at him.

  “Suck on that!”

  He laughed, his face relaxing in a way it rarely did.

  The man beside him noticed, one eyebrow arching. There was something almost curious, even surprised, in seeing Grey like that.

  “So this will be our new piece on the board...” the Marquis sneered. “Since you don’t like the title courtesan, Grey...” he stretched the words, purely to provoke, earning only a silent, cutting look in return. “How about Duchess then?” he continued, amused. “Of course, a duchess without a hint of refinement, foul-mouthed and defiant...”

  His gaze slid toward Grey, brimming with mockery.

  “Your perfect opposite. The ideal match.”

  Grey met the look, impassive, but there was a new light in his eyes. The smile that followed came almost automatically, though it carried something deeper, harder to define.

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  “Walkyria is a rough diamond, Kane...” he said quietly, his eyes shifting back to her. “It’s only a matter of time before she lives up to the title of Duchess.”

  Kane chuckled dryly.

  “Huh. Good to know you took that mess on.” He rose, adjusting his coat. “Rough diamond or not, she’s your responsibility now.

  “I know.” Grey stood as well, tone controlled but steady.

  Kane was already heading toward the arena, satisfied, not noticing the intensity flickering in Grey’s eyes. He wasn’t just watching Walkyria, like he was marking her, silently, with a kind of claim no one had spoken aloud, but that already existed.

  The smile that curved Grey’s lips as he walked was laced with something dark, something dangerous taking form.

  “Duchess...” he murmured, testing the sound of the word as though it were a newfound possession. He chuckled softly. “This will be deliciously challenging.”

  Walkyria, still panting and completely unaware of what was happening outside the mat, bent to help Daisy up. The woman, breathless and soaked with sweat but smiling with clear pride, gripped Walkyria’s arm.

  “You finally won one...” she said, voice tired but full of approval.

  Walkyria smiled wide, genuinely proud of her victory, unbothered by her own exhaustion. But before she could answer, Daisy’s eyes lit up and she turned, releasing Walkyria’s arm without a thought.

  “Kane!” she exclaimed, running toward him.

  There was no formality; she threw herself into his arms, hugging him with an intimacy so blatant that Walkyria froze, uncertain, a few steps away. For a moment, she felt strangely out of place. Intrusive. As if she never truly belonged there.

  But the feeling didn’t stay alone. She felt it, not thought, but felt it crawl down her spine, warm under her skin. Grey’s eyes were on her now. Fixed. Unavoidable.

  And they traced her, from the damp line of her neck, the tense curve of her shoulders, down to the faint outline beneath the uniform’s fabric. There was no haste in that silent examination, only sharp attention, as if he was counting, memorizing, something that already belonged to him.

  Walkyria swallowed hard, looking away. But the sensation lingered, burning beneath her skin, charged with a reminder she couldn’t quite erase: there was still a debt between them.

  And he didn’t seem like the type to forget.

  ? ? ?

  The Court’s meeting room had something intimidating in its simplicity.

  There were no adornments, no unnecessary luxury, only a round table of polished metal, scattered with a few files, bottles of water, and four occupied chairs. In the center, a holographic projector flickered in blue, already loading the details of the new Contract.

  Cecilia sat with her usual elegance, hands folded neatly on the table. Her hazel-green eyes were steady yet warm, as if capable of softening the weight hanging in the air. Grey was to her right, posture erect, arms crossed over his chest like a pillar. Across from him, Kane drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, impatient, while Daisy sat beside him, arms crossed in her lap.

  Walkyria entered last, feeling the weight of every gaze fall on her.

  “Finally.” Kane was the first to speak, a half-smile that didn’t bother to hide the acid tone. “Now our table’s complete.”

  Walkyria held his gaze but didn’t answer. She sat next to Grey, drawing silent comfort from his presence beside her.

  The hologram came to life, revealing the three-dimensional outline of a corporate building, red lines and blue dots marking routes. Cecilia began to speak, her voice clear and precise:

  “Our target is the Strovic Industries headquarters. Double-layer digital security, physical patrols in three shifts, and a reinforced core holding the records we’re after. We need absolute discretion.” Her eyes swept across every face at the table. “This isn’t a Contract of force, but of silence.”

  Kane leaned forward, his quick fingers highlighting one of the entries on the hologram.

  “I’ll handle the digital barrier.” his tone was heavy with confidence, almost arrogance. “But for that, I need time. Three minutes of distraction and free access to the main panel.” He turned his head slowly toward Walkyria. “Which means we can’t afford... improvisation.”

  Grey’s mouth curved into a short smile, but he didn’t intervene.

  Walkyria arched a brow, her sharp humor slipping out in a low murmur.

  “Relax, Marquis. I don’t usually trip over power cables.”

  Cecilia suppressed a faint smile and went on:

  “Walkyria, you’ll stay in the rear with Grey. We’ll need strength if anything goes wrong. Kane will open the digital path, and Daisy will manage internal movement remotely. You’ll be four pieces on the same board.” She paused, her gaze softening. “Work as one.”

  The silence that followed carried weight. Kane leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, as if the newcomer’s presence didn’t deserve to be taken seriously. Grey only leaned forward, breaking the tension.

  “Then it’s settled.” he said. “We go in, take what we need, and get out before anyone notices.”

  Cecilia nodded, ending the meeting with the firmness of someone who tolerated no debate.

  One by one, the members began to disperse. Daisy was the first to rise, silent, followed by Kane who, for a brief moment, fixed a look on Walkyria. She’d been noticing that same judging stare for days, ever since his return.

  She decided it was time to get answers. After all, she couldn’t recall doing anything, directly or otherwise, that could have bothered him.

  And if there truly was no reason for his attitude... then she’d give him one.

  Quick steps carried her after him down the short hallway. She caught his wrist, forcing him to turn. His gaze was heavy, yet silent. Walkyria released his hand, meeting his eyes, tired of the hostility she didn’t understand.

  “We’re both adults, Kane.” Her voice was firm, though tinged with impatience. “If you’ve got a problem with me, let’s deal with it.”

  Kane tilted his head slightly, studying her as though she were an intriguing puzzle worth solving. Walkyria frowned deeper, and then felt her stomach twist. His features — the sharp jawline, the elegant arch of his brows, that shameless, cynical smile — were disturbingly familiar.

  The memory hit like a blow. She hadn’t seen much, just a brief glimpse, but enough to remember that face, marked by arrogance.

  And the not-so-subtle comment he had thrown her way:

  You sold yourself too cheap.

  Now, face to face, there was no doubt. It was him.

  “So that’s it?” she let out a half-smile, bitter and disbelieving. “You’ve had it out for me because you saw me at the brothel? And even if I were a prostitute, what’s your problem with that?”

  “None.” The answer came sharp, like a blade of ice. “It would simply suit the title of courtesan more appropriately.”

  For an instant, her hand trembled. The urge to claw that beautiful, arrogant face nearly won. She was about to fire back something venomous when another voice cut through the tension.

  “Kane...” Daisy’s voice, soft but laced with quiet reproach.

  His demeanor changed instantly. His face gentled; the smile that followed was weaker, but real, as he turned to her.

  “For you, my princess...” he said under his breath, genuine.

  Then, turning back to Walkyria, the mask returned. His eyes hardened to stone, the blade resharpened.

  “Only for you, Daisy.”

  He turned and walked away with her. For a moment, Daisy looked as if she might say something, but she didn’t. They left together.

  Walkyria let out a breath, somewhere between resignation and frustration.

  Apparently, the hostility between them was going to linger for a while.

  ? ? ?