THE TRAINING ROOM at the Institute echoed with the rhythmic thud of wood striking wood. Kade's dark brown hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead as he moved with the staff, his muscles taut and glistening under the bright lights. His eyes, focused and fierce, tracked the target dummy with every strike.

Each movement was precise, honed from years of practice, yet fueled by something deeper—a need to burn off the energy that had been burning inside him since his return. He spun the staff in a blur, the air whistling around it, before slamming it down on the dummy's shoulder. The impact reverberated through the room, but Kade barely registered it. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in the days he'd been away and what had happened recently.

He has gone to the archives, spent hours researching whether what Valentine told him he did was possible. But he found nothing. There was no evidence that such a thing could happen or had ever happened. It all felt so overwhelming.

Unbeknownst to him, someone stood at the entrance, her silhouette framed by the doorway. Isabelle watched him, her dark eyes tracing the lines of his body as he moved with a precision that was almost hypnotic. The tension in his shoulders, the determination in his gaze—it all spoke to her of the battles he fought, not just with demons, but within himself.

She let out a slow breath, her lips curving into a small smile. The sight of him, back in his element, was a balm to her worries. Yet, there was something more—something in the way his muscles flexed with each swing, the way his jaw clenched in concentration—that stirred something deeper within her.

Without a word, Isabelle crossed the room, her boots barely making a sound on the polished floor. She grabbed a staff from the rack, the weight familiar in her hands, and walked toward him. Kade, lost in his practice, didn't notice her until she was right beside him, her presence a sudden warmth in the air.

He stopped mid-swing, turning to face her, his breath slightly uneven. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the room heavy with an unspoken tension that neither wanted to break. Then, with a slight tilt of her head and a playful glint in her eyes, Isabelle swung her staff at him.

"Oh, you're on." Kade grinned which she returned as he blocked the blow instinctively, the wood cracking against wood, they fell into a familiar rhythm. They danced around each other, staffs clashing, feet shuffling across the floor in a deadly ballet. Each strike was met with a counter, each movement mirrored and anticipated, as if they were two halves of the same whole.

But beneath the practiced motions, there was an undercurrent of something else. The tension between them was palpable, a mix of the thrill of the fight and something far more intimate. Every time their eyes met, there was a spark, a reminder of the nights they'd spent together, the whispers shared in the dark.

Kade felt his pulse quicken, not just from the exertion, but from the way Isabelle moved—confident, agile, every motion a display of the power she held, both in battle and over him. He found himself drawn to her in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying, a pull that had only grown stronger in his absence.

The fight escalated, the strikes harder, the movements faster, until suddenly, Isabelle slipped. It was only a fraction of a second, her foot catching on the floor, but it was enough. Kade reacted without thinking, his body moving on instinct. He swept her legs out from under her and pinned her to the floor, his body hovering above hers.

She landed hard, and before she could recover, he was on her, pinning her wrists to the floor.

"You're getting predictable, Iz," Kade said with a teasing grin, his face inches from hers.

"Hardly," her eyes dropped to his lips and she instinctively licked her own. She caught the way he swallowed hard and it made her smile. "You've just gotten better. Wanna go again?"

"Sure," he stood up and was about to offer her a hand but she tried to get up on her own, applying pressure on her injured back. She tried to mask it, but the sharp flash of pain betrayed her. A soft hiss escaped her lips, and her body tensed beneath him.

Kade's brows furrowed in concern, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, taking his hand as she pulled herself up.

"You winced," he said, his tone laced with concern once she was standing in front of him.

"I didn't," she replied, avoiding his gaze.

"You did," he insisted softly, his eyes scanning her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, her voice quieter this time. She brushed herself off, but her movements were too deliberate, too careful.

Kade watched her closely. His gaze dropped to her back, where her hand lingered as if trying to shield it. "You're hurt," he said, a note of worry creeping into his voice. "It's the demon wound, isn't it?"

"It's still healing."

"Should've healed ages ago," Kade stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Let me see."

"Kade—"

"Let me see," his tone left no room for arguments. She hesitated, then sighed softly. After a long pause, she muttered, "it's nothing serious." She began pulling the strap of her tank top down to reveal just enough.

Kade inhaled sharply as the wound came into view— it didn't look healed at all. He reached out, his hand hovering near her skin but stopping short. "Damn," he murmured under his breath. "This doesn't look good. The runes aren't working."

She pulled the strap back into place, stepping out of his reach. "They're working," she said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. "It just... needs time."

"Time?" Kade repeated, his voice rising slightly, though it was still gentle. "Fuck that. If the runes aren't healing it, you need to see a medic."

"I will," she promised, glancing away. "Later."

"You might wanna do that right now though," he said which made her raise her brows. "Why?"

"There's a team heading to see the Iron Sisters after the Rite of Mourning," he informed, watching as her eyes lit up instantly. "No way." Her tone tinged with disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Kade nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "Yeah," he bit his lower lip, letting a little bit of amusement slip in his tone, "I remember you always wanted to be an Iron Sister when you were a kid."

"Until I realised I had to swear off boys," she chuckled at the thought, her injury long forgotten. "When do we leave?"

"You're not going anywhere," he shot her a look. "Not until you fix that wound. That Aldertree guy would never let you leave if he—"

"He doesn't need to know," she cut him off, turned back around as she readied herself for another round. Kade clicked his tongue as he tossed a staff at her, "catch." But she failed to catch it, her wound affecting her reflexes. He sighed, "look, go get it checked out before it gets worse. The last thing we need is another one of us sidelined. Okay?"

"Okay," she sighed, giving in.

"Good girl," he smirked when her cheeks flushed at the words. "Shut up."