Someone clapped.
The sound was soft, unhurried, a polite rhythm that cut cleanly through the lingering resonance of the training room. It didn't echo so much as settle, like it belonged there. Sebastian turned toward the doorway, chest still rising and falling from exertion, sweat cooling against his skin.
Belle leaned against the frame as if she had always been part of the architecture.
She held a ceramic mug in both hands, black to match the rest of her, steam curling lazily into the air. Her hoodie hung loose on her shoulders, sleeves pushed up just enough to expose her wrists. The matching trousers pooled slightly around her ankles. Domestic clothes, comfortable clothes, and yet on her they carried the same quiet authority as a uniform.
Her violet eyes gleamed.
Not metaphorically. They actually caught the low light and refracted it, luminous in a way that made the room seem dimmer by comparison. The glow wasn't aggressive. It was warm, observant, proud.
