The armory rang with steel.

  Vex Morcant tossed Kaelen a dagger.

  “What are weapons?”

  Kaelen caught it poorly. “Extensions of the self.”

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  Vex struck him across the face.

  “No.”

  Vex attacked without warning—forcing Kaelen to defend with unfamiliar weapons, punishing hesitation instantly. Every mistake earned bruises, cuts, humiliation.

  “A weapon doesn’t care about your feelings,” Vex said.

  “It obeys clarity.”

  Kaelen dropped his blade for the fifth time.

  Vex stepped close.

  “You’re emotional. Sloppy. Predictable.”

  By sunset, Kaelen’s hands shook uncontrollably.

  Vex walked away.

  “You’ll bleed less when you learn to think.”