The kiss lingered.

Zaeryn felt Arya melting into him, losing herself in it completely. For someone so disciplined in a fight, she was surprisingly unguarded here.

Her lips were warm, soft, and faintly sweet from the drink she had taken earlier.

She kissed him like she knew exactly what she was doing, until his hand tightened at her waist without him meaning to.

Arya’s reception to his touch was to completely melt into him.

When Arya melted into him, Zaeryn felt the shift in her resolve and let his hand wander, tracing the curve of her hip until it rested lower, pulling her flush against him. Arya let out a ragged, breathless noise.

It was a boldness she hadn’t expected, but one she found herself hungering for. His hands on her skin felt like an anchor.

It was as if every spark of Vitae between them was suddenly humming in synchronization, bridging the gap between a War-Lady and the anomaly.

She didn’t know how, but kissing him was the most pleasuring thing she had ever felt. She didn’t understand how someone could be so intoxicating.

His lips were like a drug she hadn’t known she was addicted to, a smooth, rhythmic pull that made her knees weak and her mind go blissfully quiet.

It was a strange sort of magic, the way he could command her body without even

trying, and she didn’t want to stop it.

She told herself she could stay like this forever, anchored by his touch and lost in the heat.

Mireille was still in her chair at the edge of the pool. She had watched the entire session with that same unhurried attention, missing nothing.

She saw the kiss. And she was not surprised by it at all. Arya liked Zaeryn very much, maybe too much and she didn’t hide it.

She was very curious about him. And despite Mireille warning her that doing anything with him would be a bad idea since he was a weird person who seemed to be destined for the worst when the tribunal found out of his strange existence, Arya never listened to her. And what could she do about that as her friend? Nothing.

Her eyes dropped to the water. Not quickly, and not with any particular reaction. It was just a quiet redirection, the way someone moves their gaze from a screen when something stops being their business. She picked up her gloves from her knee and turned them over once in her hands.

She didn’t want to look. But her eyes betrayed her anyway, and she watched them kiss. She noticed how Arya seemed to have completely forgotten where they were. And she could only think that this was Zaeryn’s doing.

During her time watching over him, she had observed it more than once. The way people around him seemed drawn to him without quite meaning to be.

He wasn’t bad looking, he was actually too good looking. But she still didn’t understand it. The effect he had on them, was something that looks only couldn’t do.

When they finally pulled apart, Arya stayed close for a second longer than necessary. Her cheeks were flushed, her bright eyes slightly unfocused, and there was a soft, sensual look on her face that made Zaeryn realize the kiss had affected her more than expected.

He had never confirmed it yet, but he was beginning to suspect that his kisses didn’t feel normal.

It was like his intimacy had a way of slipping past the armor of even the most disciplined Warladies before they realized what was happening. Maybe it was his confidence. Maybe it was the quiet pull of the **Eros Engine**. Either way, the result was hard to ignore.

Arya lay back, staring at the cloudless sky. She smiled, "I have an idea... No, I have a proposal for you Zaeryn." She said.

Zaeryn sat up on the chaise and looked at her. "What is it?" His gaze gave nothing away but he was very curious.

Arya turned to him, smiling, "My training won’t be free. So we have to come up with a way for you to pay me,"

"Oh?" Zaeryn was slightly disappointed to hear that. How was he supposed to pay her when he was broke? He had exactly one credit in his account that was not already mentally allocated to something else.

But the good thing was she didn’t say outright that he had to pay her money, so she was clearly going to suggest something else."I am listening."

"Pay me back in makeout sessions." Arya said.

Zaeryn chuckled. "Deal."

He would do it for free. But he liked her deal either way.

He turned his head, his gaze landing on Mireille. She was still seated at the pool’s edge, posture flawless and icy blue eyes fixed on the water.

The residual energy of his newly ranked-up abilities thrummed beneath his skin. Riding the high of his successful takedown, he flashed a cocky, challenging grin at the silver-haired Warlady.

"What about you, Mireille?" he called out, his voice carrying easily across the water. "You have been watching all morning. Ready for a round?"

Mireille did not move. Her sharp gaze swept over him, then drifted deliberately to the pristine patio decking, the hydro-therapy pool, and the bare stretch of stone where Ysmeine’s expensive lounge chairs stood. And not long ago, there sat completely different chairs before Zaeryn vaporized them with a stray Concussive Blast. They had only been replaced a few days ago.

She looked like she was considering it.

"No," Mireille said flatly.

Zaeryn felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. He arched his brow. "Don’t tell me you are scared I will improvise another sweep on you."

"I am not concerned about your sweep," she replied, her tone cool and pragmatic, completely ignoring the bait. "I am concerned about the estate."

"I am a Tier 2 Vitae user too, remember?" Zaeryn said.

He was genuinely convinced he could go toe to toe with her. He had improved considerably since Viora had taken him apart, and a proper bout with Mireille was something he had been looking forward to. He could feel it, the readiness of someone who had recently leveled up. With his numerous abilities spanning multiple tiers, he figured that had to count for something.

Even losing to Mireille would be useful. Especially losing. Intense sparring had a way of forcing his body to learn faster than his pride could complain

"You might be Tier 2," Mireille said, "but your powers are not fully mastered and highly destructive. If we sparred here without restraint, we would not be testing technique. We would level the patio, shatter the pool, and likely bring half the estate down on our heads."

Arya, lying beside him, laughed softly. "She is right, Zaeryn. Ysmeine forgave you for the chairs, but I do not think she would extend the same grace if we turned her home into a crater."

Mireille stood, smoothing her uniform with two precise, unhurried movements. She looked back at Zaeryn, her icy demeanor softening just a fraction as she met his gaze.

"This environment cannot contain us," she said, her voice dropping into something slightly more conversational. "But perhaps one day, when we have access to the reinforced arenas at the Citadel, I would like to see what your power actually looks like."

For a fraction of a second, the corner of her mouth curved into something resembling a smirk, that at the same time looked like a smile or something else, no one could tell because this was a rare moment from Mireille.

Before Zaeryn could respond, it was gone, swallowed back into her usual mask.

"And you will see mine," she added, "when I am not forced to hold back."

"I cannot wait," Zaeryn said.

"I am going inside..." Her eyes moved between them with a dry, unhurried precision. "... Let me know when you need something."

She turned and walked back into the house.

Zaeryn watched her go. At the time he had not thought much of it, but now that he replayed it, wait. Did she just smile at him? No. Smirk? Grin? What exactly was that?

He turned to Arya. "That woman is terrifying."

Arya lay back, one arm thrown loosely over her stomach, staring at the sky. "She likes you. That was her version of a playful smirk. She almost never does that."

"That is her liking me?"

"Yes."

"Goddess. I would hate to see what dislike looks like." He paused. "Actually, I do not have to imagine. She did not like me not long ago."

Arya laughed softly. "That was not dislike, that was indifference. Trust me, if Mireille really disliked you, you would know."

"I will take your word for it. You two seem close."

"We are." There was quiet pride in her voice. She paused for a second seemingly thinking or recalling something, "Between us, Mireille did not warm to me immediately either. She thought I was too friendly."

Zaeryn laughed. He could picture it exactly.

"Also," Arya added, "she did not say a word about the kiss. That is your sign. She trusts you enough now that she does not feel the need to protect me from your charms."

Zaeryn remembered the first time he had kissed Arya. Mireille’s reaction then had been considerably less neutral. Progress, apparently, came in many forms.

For a while, neither of them moved. They lay there in the comfortable morning heat, the pool water lapping softly at the edges of the deck. After the violence of the spar, the stillness felt almost luxurious.

"I still cannot believe you improvised that sweep," Arya murmured, turning her head toward him. There was amusement in her eyes, and real respect underneath it. "That was not luck."

"No?"

"No." She studied him a moment, as if replaying the movement in her head. "The execution was ugly. But the idea was good. You felt the gap before I did. That is rare."

Zaeryn tried not to smile too much about it. He failed.

"Do not get ahead of yourself," Arya caught him and gave him a look. "It worked on me, but against someone with sharper instincts, that same move gets you flat on your back and embarrassed. My family’s style uses similar blind-angle entries, but cleaner ones. I will teach you the proper form."

"I cannot wait."

"I have been teaching you for the last two and a half hours," Arya said. "If you did not absorb anything, that is a student problem, not a teacher problem."

"You were throwing me into the mat. I thought that was the warm-up."

"That was the lesson."

"That is a violent educational philosophy."

"It works."

He considered his aching body. Annoyingly, she had a point.

"Fine," he said. "Teach me properly."

Arya’s smile softened. "I will. Just don’t forget to pay me back in make out sessions after training,"

Eventually the conversation wound down on its own. The quiet that settled in its place was comfortable, the kind that did not need filling.

"So," Arya said finally, "is this how you spend your Cycle-End days? Sparring and lying around?"

"Pretty much," Zaeryn said. "Video games, hanging out with Ysmeine, Aeris. The occasional accidental property damage."

Arya laughed, a light, easy sound. "Sounds peaceful."

"It is," he agreed. Although now that he was at the lyceum it just felt boring to not have to go to go to the academy for 4 days until the decad ends.

They stayed there a little longer, talking lazily about footwork, balance, and the exact moment his body had stopped obeying common sense and somehow made something brilliant out of panic. Arya explained the difference between a desperate movement and an intentional sacrifice of position. Zaeryn pretended to understand all of it. He understood enough.

Eventually, the morning heat began to press down harder, and the quiet comfort of the moment started to thin. That was when Viora entered his thoughts.