The fight drags on, each of us landing blows, each of us pushing harder. My breath comes sharp, my muscles burning, but I don't stop. I can't.

And then, finally—an opening.

Karina moves to strike, and I catch her wrist, twisting fast. She tries to counter, but I pivot, knocking her off balance. The moment she falters, I sweep her legs out from under her.

She hits the mat hard, breath rushing out of her.

For a moment, we're both still.

Then, she groans, staring up at the ceiling. "Damn."

I offer her a hand. She takes it, letting me pull her up.

"That's more like it," she mutters, rolling out her shoulders. "You finally decide to stop sulking?"

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair.

No.

Not even close.

But I know one thing for sure.

No matter how tangled things get, no matter how much it costs me—I won't stop fighting for Elara.

Even if it means risking everything.

As I make my way home, under the cover of night, one of my many encounters with Elara comes to mind. We are in her office. This was way before the arrest, of course. The memory floods my mind and I let it:

She doesn't know what she does to me.

Or maybe she does.

Elara leans past me, reaching for something on the table. Her body brushes mine, soft and firm in all the right places, and I go rigid, every muscle locked tight.

The worst part is, it's not intentional. It's not a game.

She's not trying to drive me insane.

And yet, I am.

The scent of her skin, the faintest brush of her hair against my jaw—it's too much. My pulse kicks hard, heat surging low in my gut. My body reacts before I can stop it, instinct roaring to the surface.

She freezes.

She felt it.

Slowly, she turns her head.

The space between us is a breath, a whisper. Her lips are close enough that if I moved even an inch, they'd be against mine.

Her gaze flickers—uncertainty, curiosity, something deeper.

I can't think.

I don't breathe.

Then she sways forward, just slightly, and it's like a match to dry kindling, my restraint burning up in a rush of heat.