That smile—
Jesse saw it. That faint curl at the corner of his mouth, subtle, unspoken, but maddeningly familiar.
That was his smile.
The one he used back then—when she'd fumbled her grip for the third time in a row, cursing under her breath as the training blade slipped in her palms.
The one he wore not when mocking, but when watching her try.
Back then, she thought it was arrogance. A smirk from a boy who'd clearly seen too many fights and thought too highly of himself. But now—
Now she knew better.
Lucavion only smiled like that when he saw progress.
When he saw effort becoming understanding.
'You bastard,' Jesse thought, eyes narrowing. 'Still smiling like you're watching some half-dead recruit try to walk straight.'
The blade lock broke.
Lucavion moved again, fluid, his estoc weaving a feint that mimicked a high thrust—but Jesse read through it. She leaned under the path, pivoting on her left foot, using the downswing of the Reaping Form to answer.
—CLANK!—
