Page 31 of Seeking Shadows

He growls, trying to stand, but missteps and nearly topples again. I rub my face, containing my frustration.

“This how you wanna play it?” he mutters, masking his embarrassment.

“Oh, baby,” I purr. “I haven’t even started yet.”

I toss him a knife. He tries to catch it midair, but it slips through his fingers, landing on the ground with a dull clang.

“Lesson two: hold your weapon properly before you think about using it.” I twirl my own knife between my fingers with ease. “Attack me.”

He hesitates, then picks up the knife and advances—carelessly, sloppily. I sidestep without effort and disarm him in seconds. His knife clatters to the floor again.

“Third lesson: If you’re gonna fight like this, don’t even bother your enemy. He’ll die laughing before you land a hit.”

Zane glares at me, irritation clear in his face. He knows I’m right. This is going to take work.

“You’re a terrible trainer,” he mutters.

“Thank you!” I beam. “I’ve always wanted to be the bad girl. People keep mistaking me for something else, and it’s getting extremely annoying.”

“Mia,” Zane says, waiting for me to finish speaking—because he always does.

“Hm?”

“You ruined the whole ‘mean instructor’ moment.”

“Shit.” I say it out loud, and he laughs.

But then, his face darkens again, and the sadness seeps back in.

I hate seeing Zane like this.

“You never told me your favorite food,” I ask, abruptly changing the subject.

He frowns. “We’re not here to make small talk.”

“Well, we’re not really training either, considering you suck with knives.”

“Sorry if I don’t live up to your psychopathic brother’s expectations.”

“Daddy made One—Seth—hit his targets with precision. Every mistake cost me or Katie a cut.” I pull up my sleeve, showing the scars. “I’m glad you never had to learn that way.”

The things my brother endured in this place… It makes me want to protect him from all of it. If I have to be my father’s distraction, so be it. Seth deserves better.

Zane senses the shift in me, reading me too well—as if he can see straight into my head. Then, he does something unexpected, something his cold, black-haired alter ego would never do.

He pulls me against him and hugs me.

“You don’t have to be positive all the time, Mia,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my hair. “It’s okay to be sad.”

He was about hate just moments ago—his words sharp, cold, like daggers meant to cut through the distance between us. But now, suddenly, his arms are around me, pulling me in like he sees something deeper, something beyond all the mess, the anger, the damage we’ve done to each other.

I freeze for a split second, every nerve in my body on high alert. His touch isn’t what I expected. It’s not harsh or punishing—it’s… searching. Like he’s looking for something in me, trying to understand, trying to make sense of everything that’s broken between us. His hands move over me as if tracing the lines of my soul, like he’s reading me, piece by piece, figuring me out in ways I can’t even explain.

And he does.

He gets me. In a way no one else ever has.

In a way that makes my breath catch, my heart skip, even though I should pull away, even though I know how dangerous it is to let him see me like this—vulnerable, raw, needing him in a way that I can’t control.

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