Chapter 161

• Timur
• Ivan charged forward with precision and calculated steps. I gripped my knife, the cold steel of the blade feeling like a natural extension of myself. Ivan was good—great, sometimes—as a skilled and experienced opponent, but on most days, I was better. And most days were nine out of ten sparring days.
• With thick brows drawn and his jaw set, he lunged forward, his blade flashing toward my ribs. I sidestepped, twisting my body just enough for his knife to graze my T-shirt but not my skin. Smirking, I countered immediately. My knife sliced through the air toward his arm. He dodged, but not fast enough. A thin line of crimson appeared on his forearm.