PREVIEW

... >

Just an old terrace.

Empty rooftop of some retired government building. The kind of place that smelled like ozone and pigeon shit. Cracked tiles. Dust over glass. Wind blowing faint across the cityline.

Lucen stepped out, squinting at the sunrise. Then looked down at the blade in his hand.

"Feels wrong," he said.

"Good," Varik replied.

No warm-up. No lesson.

Varik just pointed.

"Stance."

Lucen blinked. "Stance what?"

"T ...

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