Their breathing had deepened into a rhythm in which each inhale was a drag through the chest and each exhale carried a small edge of heat, but neither twin slowed.
Their pace remained sharp, their focus locked. Thalynae's voice came only when needed—never a constant stream, never smothering their movement.
A short, precise reminder to hold a line. A low word to shift a step. A light touch to change the angle of a wrist.
There was no doubt in her tone, no sense she believed they would fail. She simply asked for more as though "more" was the natural baseline.
That expectation alone left no room for stopping.
When she finally let them take a break, it was not with an indulgent word, but a small motion of her hand, almost like a conductor allowing a rest in the music.
They walked to the bench at the courtyard's edge, their steps measured but carrying the faint drag of exertion.
