After the Alpha's grueling runs and the Warlock's impossible stillness, Asher's lesson was a brutal dose of reality.
He didn't care about discipline. He didn't care about logic.
He only cared about survival.
"They teach you how to fight a war," Asher told Ravenna as they moved silently through the dense scrubland. "I teach you how to avoid one."
His voice was a low whisper.
"Because in the end, it's always you against the world."
He was teaching her evasion. The art of becoming a ghost. His constant, low-level vigilance wasn't learned. It was his natural state.
"Don't look at the path," Asher instructed. "Look at the shadows. Look at the corners. Authority figures walk where they have the right. Rogues move where they have the cover."
He showed her how to leave a fake trail. One that smelled like cheap perfume or a stray dog instead of her Hybrid scent.
"When I ran from the Ironwood Pack, I was almost found because I still smelled like Lycan," Asher said. He paused, examining a broken twig.
"When I ran from the Shadowed Spires, I was caught because I was too loud. Trust nothing that gives orders. Trust only your quickness and the shadows."
"Why did you run from the Pack?" Ravenna asked quietly.
Asher turned. He leaned against a jagged, weathered rock. His green eyes held a cold resignation.
"My first betrayal," he admitted. His voice was rough, unpracticed.
"I was a low-rank Lycan. Nothing special. But then my magic started to manifest. The former Alpha—Emin's father—he didn't see power. He saw a flaw. A sickness. He tried to purify me."
Asher shifted his weight. The memory was a physical thing.
"Not train. Burn. They tried to burn the magic out with pain."
He straightened. Cynicism hardened his face.
"So I ran to the Coven. To a high-ranking Elder, a mentor of Damaris. I thought they would welcome the magic. But they saw the Lycan in me. They saw a feral thing. They tried to bind me with rituals until I was a puppet with no will."
He spat on the ground.
"I was property to both sides. Belonged to neither. So I killed my way out of both."
He looked at her. His gaze was sharp.
"That is the Rogue's truth, Ravenna. The Mate Bond is no different. They don't want you. They want your power. Emin wants it disciplined. Damaris wants it cataloged. I want you to learn how to keep it for yourself."
As the light began to fade, Asher led her through a maze of ancient drainage pipes.
Suddenly, he grabbed her arm. Pulled her quickly behind a rusted tank. He pressed his body close to hers, rigid and tense.
"Quiet," he whispered. "Nyzor patrol. Too close."
Ravenna felt the cold tang of ozone. The scent of Nyzor's hunters. Two low-rank Lycans swept the boundary with terrifying efficiency.
Asher drew two sharp knives. "I can take them. But we need a distraction."
"The water tower chaos was too loud," Ravenna whispered.
"Agreed. Subtler," Asher instructed. "Give me enough noise to cover two moves. Nothing more."
Ravenna focused.
She extended a thin thread of chaotic energy toward a cluster of dry brush near the hunters. She pushed, not for explosion, but for heat.
Whoosh.
The brush burst into a small, hot pillar of flame. It created noise. Perfectly drawing their focus.
Asher struck.
With a viper's speed. He made two quick moves. Then followed by a soft grunt.
The hunters were down. And not only they were down, they were dead.
For Asher, when escaping was the key, mercy wasn't an option.
Ravenna watched, sickened, as he dragged the bodies into the thick brush.
"Necessity," Asher stated, wiping his hands on his worn leather pants. "They don't take prisoners. They don't leave witnesses. If we didn't kill them, they would have called in the cavalry."
He looked back at her. His face grim.
"That is the Rogue's first lesson, Ravenna. There is no honor in survival. Only pragmatism."
He moved closer. The shared guilt and adrenaline thickened the air. The Mate Bond vibrated with a strange, possessive relief.
"You did well," he murmured. "You gave me the perfect distraction."
The danger forced them together. Asher's body was pressed against hers, the fire's heat highlighting the sweat on his skin.
He reached out. Gently brushed a smudge of dirt from her cheek. A gesture of acknowledgment. Not romance.
"They teach you to obey rules," Asher whispered. His eyes locked on hers. "I teach you to break them. And you are a natural."
Ravenna felt the dangerous pull of his cynicism. The most tempting path. To be free of rules. Judged only on success. To trust only instinct.
The moment shattered.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps.
"Trouble," Asher hissed. "Emin's on his way. He'll scent the blood and the fire. We need to get back. Now."
They bolted toward the outpost. Ravenna carried the heavy burden of the Rogue's truth. The memory of two dead men. A necessary price for freedom.
The next lesson—the disastrous first group training session—was about to begin.