Morning came with rain.

Elena woke to its steady tapping against the windows and the soft sounds of Lisa moving around the room. She opened her eyes to find grey light slipping through the curtains, and Lisa crouched beside her bag, folding the last of her clothes.

“You're actually leaving,” Elena murmured.

Lisa glanced over her shoulder. “Unfortunately.”

Elena smiled, though she didn't quite feel like it yet. She pushed herself upright and pulled the blanket around her waist.

“Give me five minutes before you abandon me.”

"Abandon you? Lisa turned, holding a pair of earrings. She'd already dressed — jeans, a heavy jacket, her colorful streaks tucked behind one ear. She looked ready for a world that didn't include mansions. “Don’t worry, girl. I’m not leaving you to get locked up in this castle. I just got a message this morning. The Clients just moved up the deadline on our team.”

"I thought you had another week."

“So did I.” Lisa shrugged, but her eyes drifted toward the empty side of the room. “Where is he, anyway? I figured I’d at least see Thorn before I left.”

“He had to leave yesterday.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

Lisa’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “He didn't tell you?”

Elena shook her head.

“Huh.” Lisa slipped her earrings into place, then glanced back at Elena. “You okay with that?”

“I’m fine.”

Lisa gave her a look. “That's the most unconvincing ‘fine’ I’ve heard all week.”

“Lisa.”

“I know.” She smiled, softening the tease. She slung her bag over her shoulder and crossed the room, stopping beside the bed. “I'm not worried about you being here. I just know you. And if something's bothering you, you don't always say it.”

Elena thought about the journal in the library, the coded routes on her phone, the man she’d told she loved.

“I'll be fine.”

Lisa sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay. But if you need me, call me. Any time.”

“I will.”

“And I mean it. Not the polite ‘I will’—the actual one.”

Elena reached out and squeezed Lisa’s hand. “I’ll call you. I promise.”

Lisa studied her face a second longer, then nodded and stood.

“Okay. Good.” She adjusted the strap of her bag. “Because if he breaks your heart, I’m going to be very annoying about it.”

Elena smiled. “You already are.”

“Exactly. Imagine me with a reason.”

Elena laughed, and Lisa grinned.

“Now come on. Walk me out?”

The front door was cold against Elena's palm when she pulled it open. The air rushed in, wet and sharp, carrying the smell of rain-soaked stone and cut grass. Lisa stepped past her onto the slate steps, then stopped.

Victor was coming up the path.

He was in his usual dark clothes, but something about the way he moved — easy, unhurried, as if he had nowhere else to be — made the morning feel less empty. He stopped at the base of the steps and looked up at Lisa.

"Heading out?"

"Work." Lisa tilted her head at him. "Can't have this face arguing with a color palette all day. Somebody's got to pay the rent."

Victor gave her a small smile. "Safe trip."

"Yeah, big guy." She let the words sit for a moment before adding, more softly, "Take care of her, will you?"

"Always."

Lisa's eyes dipped. Then she looked at Elena with a smile that was braver than it was real, turned, and headed down the path toward the waiting car. Elena watched her go, watched the car pull off, watched the rain close in behind the taillights.

Then the manor was quiet again, the way only an old building can be quiet — a stillness that swallowed sound and made the walls feel closer.

"Things will finally be quiet around here again," Victor said, watching the door. His voice was flat, unreadable.

Elena looked at him. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Victor's broad shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I've worked here a long time. I'm used to quiet." He turned toward the hall that ran past the garage wing, his boots making a soft sound on the stone. "She was harmless, though. You could tell she cares about you."

The words landed somewhere unexpected. Elena stood in the foyer, the cool air pressing against her skin, and heard what that almost-sentence kept unsaid. Lisa had only been here one night, but her leaving made the manor feel different already. Quieter. Emptier.

And with that quiet came everything Elena had been putting off. The auction. The files. The paper trail that led from a warehouse to the Velvet Rope. The day stretched out before her, every task lined up like stones in a row, heavy and waiting, none of them quite where she wanted them to be.

"I don't know what to do with myself," she said. "I know I need to prepare. Set things up. It's in two days, and I don't—" She shook her head at herself. "I don't want to start yet."

Victor watched her, waiting.

Elena felt the words gather in her throat before she knew she was going to say them. A thought she was having even as it formed somehow made sense of the quiet day ahead of her. "Can you teach me?"

“Teach you what?”

“To fight. Self-defense. Something.” Elena leaned against the doorway, folding her arms. “I need something more active than sitting around a library all day staring at papers.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “You have plenty of work.”

“I know. That's part of the problem.” She gestured toward the manor. “I can spend twelve hours reading, researching, and trying to make sense of things, but none of that does much for me when I need to actually move. I want to learn something practical.”

“You want to learn how to fight because you’re bored?”

“I want to learn how to take care of myself.” Elena paused, then added, “And because I trust you.”

That made him hesitate.

“You're not exactly built for this,” he said.

Elena looked down at herself. “That's encouraging.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth before disappearing. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” She stepped closer. “I'm not asking you to turn me into some kind of fighter. I don't need to be able to take down three people in an alley. I want the basics. How to stand. How to move. How to get out of someone's grip. How to hit without breaking my own hand.”

Victor studied her for a moment, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make his point. “That’s a lot of things,” he said at last, like he was weighing whether she even understood what she was asking for.

Elena didn’t look away. “Then start with one.”

He exhaled through his nose, already shaking his head before she finished speaking. “I don’t teach.”

“You know how,” she said immediately, as if that settled it.

“That doesn’t mean I teach.”

Elena didn’t let the thread drop. “Then start with what you know. Just the basics. I’m not asking for anything more than that.”

That finally made him look away. His jaw tightened slightly, like the idea itself was something he didn’t want to hold onto. For a moment, he just stood there, silent, while Elena waited him out without a word of her own.

“You’re persistent,” he said at last, almost to himself, like it wasn’t entirely a compliment. He then paused and thought for a moment.  When he finally spoke again, it was quieter. “You’d have to take it seriously.”

“I will.”

“You’d have to listen,” he added, watching her closely now.

“I find that’s usually not an issue.”

A faint, skeptical look flickered across his face.

Elena huffed a small breath, almost a laugh. “Fine. I usually do when people explain things properly.”

That got him—just barely. The corner of his mouth twitched like it wanted to become a smile and decided against it.

“And if I tell you to stop,” he said, more firmly now, “you stop.”

“Deal.”

"Meet me in the basement level, in an hour." He raised his hand as if the address ended the matter. "Stairway down the west servant wing. I'll have things ready."

Elena nodded once. "One hour."

He gave a short, flat nod in return and stepped off the wet stones. She watched him move around the side of the house, into the rain that immediately began dotting the shoulders of his jacket. The fog of the order made the moment realer than any talk had.

She pulled the door shut, and the manor sealed itself quiet around her.

Upstairs, Elena opened the dresser and surveyed her options. Everything she’d brought with her seemed either too prim or too flimsy for what she had in mind. Finally, she settled on a pair of leggings—thin enough to move comfortably in, but sturdy enough to hold up to actual exercise. From memory, she added a tank top that kept everything securely in place. It was the only fitted, close-fitting piece she’d brought that would let her bend and move freely.

With time to spare, she tied her hair back and gathered a bottle of water. She checked the clock, then found herself checking it again a few minutes later. The hour seemed determined to move slower now that she was waiting for it.

She spent the remaining time pacing between small preparations and restlessness. She cleared a space near the foot of the bed, rolled her shoulders, stretched her arms overhead, and practiced shifting her weight from one foot to the other. None of it felt particularly useful, but it was better than sitting still.

Eventually, the minute hand reached the hour.

Elena took one last look at herself in the mirror, grabbed the water, and headed for the stairs. Victor would be waiting downstairs.

The stairs opened into the garage beneath the manor, and Elena slowed as she stepped onto the concrete floor.

It was much larger than she'd expected. The underground space stretched the full length of the manor, bright overhead lights humming above rows of vehicles. Most of the cars were hidden beneath thick covers, their shapes reduced to quiet silhouettes beneath canvas. Closest to the nearer wall, however, several of the manor's less glamorous vehicles sat uncovered—larger SUVs and utility vehicles that looked more suited to security work.

Near the back section sat a compact gym setup. A weight rack stood against one wall, a heavy bag hanging from a reinforced beam beside it, and a rowing machine folded neatly out of the way. Everything was arranged with the same deliberate efficiency she had come to associate with the people who worked here. Nothing seemed decorative. Everything had a purpose.

Victor was waiting near the equipment, already dressed for the lesson. He wore dark sweatpants and a fitted long-sleeved shirt, his attention shifting toward her as she approached.

Elena glanced once more toward the covered vehicles before turning her attention to him.

“So,” she said, lifting the water bottle in her hand, “where do we start?”

Victor stood over the large padded mat as he gave his first instruction.

“Warm up first,” he said, adjusting the mat with the heel of his boot. “Five minutes. Jog in place, jumping jacks, whatever feels comfortable. Just get your heart rate up and your muscles moving. Nothing too hard.”

Elena started toward the open space, but Victor stopped her with a quiet, “Before we start, there's something you need to understand.” His expression had lost the small hint of amusement from earlier. “I'll do my best not to hurt you, but accidents happen. You may get bruised. You may get hurt. Do you understand?”

Elena looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “I do.”

Victor nodded, then muttered quietly enough that Elena almost missed it, “Thorn's going to kill me for this.” He gestured toward the mat. “Now warm up.”

Elena moved onto the mat and began as instructed, starting with a light jog before moving into jumping jacks and a few simple stretches. Victor stayed nearby, watching without interrupting. After a few minutes, Elena slowed, breathing a little harder as she shook out her arms and looked toward him.

Victor gave a small nod.

“Good. We start with escapes,” he said, his tone shifting into instructor mode—flat and direct. “Most attacks, someone’s gonna grab you. Wrist. Arm. From behind. Your goal isn’t to win a fight. It’s to break contact and run. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Give me your wrist.”

She extended her right arm. His hand enveloped her forearm, his fingers closed around her forearm like iron bands. The contact is startling. Not like Liam’s touch. This is impersonal, clinical. But solid. Real.

“Feel where my thumb is. The weakest point of the grip is right there, in the web between my thumb and finger. You don’t pull against my strength. You’re not strong enough. You rotate.” He guides her hand, his grip unyielding. “Turn your wrist into the weakness. A sharp, sudden motion. Like turning a key. Try.”

She tries. She pulls. His hand doesn’t budge.

“You’re thinking. Don’t think. Your body knows. It’s a twist. Fast.” He releases her. “Again.”

This time, she focuses on the pivot of her bone, the snap of her joint. She twists her wrist sharply inward, driving it toward the gap in his grip. His thumb gives. Her arm slips free.

“Better.”

They move to a rear bear hug. He stands behind her, his arms like steel cables locking around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. His chest is a wall against her back. The position was instantly claustrophobic. His arms pinned hers against her sides, leaving her little room to move. For a second, her instinct was simply to fight against the pressure.

“Panic is your enemy,” Victor’s voice is in her ear, calm. “You have air. Use it. Drop your weight. Now.”

She lets her knees buckle, a dead drop. His grip shifts to hold her up. “Good. Now, stomp my instep. Hard.”

She brings her heel down on his boot. It’s a solid impact, felt up her leg.

“Simultaneously, drive your elbow back into my gut. Then, the moment I loosen, you turn and run. Don’t look back. Don’t go for a second shot. Run.”

They drill it. Again and again. The stomp, the elbow strike, the twist and break. Her body learns the sequence. The hollow ache in her belly is gone, replaced by a burning in her muscles, a sheen of sweat on her skin despite the cold air. It feels good. It feels like purpose.

He teaches her a basic block against a wild punch, using her forearm to deflect, then a sharp palm-heel strike to the nose. “Target the soft parts. Eyes, nose, throat, groin. Don't worry about fighting fair. You're trying to get away. Hit what works, create space, and go.”

She had spent most of her life thinking of her body as something separate from the work of her mind. Her world had been business plans, contracts, galleries, brush strokes. This was something else. Immediate. Physical. Something she could feel herself learning.

Victor calls a halt after an hour. He isn’t even breathing heavily. “Enough for today or you’ll be too sore tomorrow.”

Elena stands on the mat, her legs trembling slightly. The wind cools the sweat on her neck. She feels raw. Used. Alive. “Thank you, Victor.”

He gives a single nod, rolling up the mat. “We’ll do this again if you want. Same time tomorrow. It’s a good distraction.” His eyes meet hers, and for a second, the professional mask slips, revealing something like understanding. “For both of us.”