Rhian moved the blade closer, the edge pressing against her collarbone. The cool bite of steel broke the skin in a thin, sharp line, and he felt her body stiffen as the cold metal met flesh.
Anya didn't move back. She didn't flinch or try to break away. Instead, she tilted her head back slightly, her mismatched eyes catching his with a flicker of respect.
She smiled faintly, a quiet acceptance in her eyes. Her fingers loosened around the twin blades of ice she held, the weapons dissolving into water that hissed against the ground.
She exhaled. "That's enough," she said softly, her voice carrying just enough for him to hear.
The match was done. She had ended it herself, her pride yielding to the sharp finality of the blade's touch. Rhian lowered his weapon, his breathing steady and his eyes still locked on hers.
He hadn't wanted to draw blood, but he knew she wouldn't have accepted anything less than a fight pushed to the limit. They both understood that. They always had.
