Sam was the definition of a femme fatale—beautiful, yes, but sharp enough to cut through steel if required. There was nothing soft about her competence, nothing accidental about her presence.
"Let me guess," Mira said, folding her arms loosely across her chest as she leaned against the counter, her tone light but edged with recognition. "You're my surprise."
Sam's grin widened, satisfaction flickering openly across her face. "I told you I'd be back," she replied, as though returning from a classified operation halfway across the world were no more significant than stepping out for coffee.
"You just came back from a mission," Mira said, studying her more closely now. "Don't you ever rest?"
Sam gave a small shrug, the motion relaxed but economical. "I sleep on planes."
Mira let out a quiet breath, unimpressed. "That's not resting," she said. "That's barely surviving."
Sam's eyes gleamed with faint amusement. "You'd be surprised what the body can adapt to."
"I'd rather not test that theory," Mira replied dryly, pushing off the counter and walking a slow circle around her.
Sam gave her a sideways look, amused, then glanced her up and down slowly, assessing. "So. New assignment."
Mira closed her eyes for half a second, already resigned. "Of course there is."
Sam arched a brow. "What? Did you slack off on your training while I was gone?"
Mira shot her a look—cool, sharp, unimpressed. "I did months of intense training."
Sam smirked. "And Cassian thinks you can do more."
Mira dropped her arms and leaned back slightly against the counter, unbothered. "Cassian always thinks that."
Sam laughed, genuine and warm. "He's not wrong."
Mira rolled her eyes—but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips, the kind she didn't bother hiding around Sam.
"That man," Mira muttered under her breath, though there was no real heat in it, "is going to work me into an early grave."
Sam took a step closer, the distance between them narrowing just enough to shift the air. Her tone remained light, almost teasing, but the focus in her eyes sharpened. "He's preparing you."
Mira lifted a brow. "Preparing me for what, exactly?"
Sam studied her for a moment, as if weighing how much to say and how plainly to say it. The grin on her lips softened but did not disappear. "For surviving his world."
The words were not dramatic. They were matter-of-fact.
Mira held her gaze without flinching, her posture steady. "I already am."
There was no bravado in the statement. No defensiveness. Just quiet certainty.
Sam's expression shifted then, something warmer threading through her composure. Pride, unguarded and unmistakable.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "You are."
Mira muttered something unintelligible under her breath as she reached for a bottle of water, twisting the cap open with more force than necessary. "You do realize school starts again soon, right?"
"Yes," Sam replied with infuriating brightness. "Which is exactly why he wants you to use the remaining time wisely."
Mira slowly turned her head and stared at her. "Seriously?"
"Very."
There wasn't even a flicker of apology in her expression.
Mira shook her head, taking a long drink before lowering the bottle. "That last round nearly killed me."
Sam stepped closer, her eyes glinting with quiet amusement, though there was something steadier beneath it. "Nearly," she repeated. "And yet, here you are. Alive. Capable. Stronger than you were before."
Mira sighed again. "You people are impossible."
"Come on," Sam said, already turning toward the door. "No time to complain."
They headed toward the in-house gym, their footsteps echoing softly as they moved down a private corridor few people ever saw.
The lighting shifted as they descended—muted, indirect, designed more for discretion than comfort. Every surface was polished to a near-immaculate sheen, the walls a smooth blend of stone and dark metal, cool beneath Mira's fingertips as she trailed them lightly along the edge.
This wing of the estate was not for guests.
It was for preparation.
The gym itself opened into a vast, controlled space. Sleek floors stretched wide beneath high ceilings reinforced with exposed steel beams.
One entire wall was mirrored, flawless and uninterrupted, reflecting not vanity but assessment—posture, movement, reaction. The equipment lined the room in disciplined symmetry, each piece more reminiscent of military-grade hardware than anything meant for casual fitness.
No bright colors. No unnecessary comforts. Just purpose.
Everything here was deliberate.
Cameras were positioned unobtrusively in the corners, small and dark, easy to miss unless you knew where to look. Doors slid open and sealed shut without sound, their mechanisms smooth, precise. Even the air felt regulated—cool, filtered, steady.
A place where nothing happened by accident.
Mira took it in without comment, her expression unchanged, unbothered—but her eyes absorbed everything. The layout. The exits. The blind spots. The way nothing in Cassian's world existed without intent.
Sam glanced at her, catching the quiet way she observed.
"You're getting better at reading rooms," she said.
Mira's lips curved faintly. "I live in one that's always trying to kill me."
Sam laughed under her breath.
And they stepped fully inside.
Sam rolled her shoulders once, slow and deliberate, muscles loosening beneath her shirt. "Warm up."
Mira eyed the space warily, taking in the wide mat, the equipment lining the walls, the faint hum of the climate system overhead. Everything about this room promised effort. Sweat. Pain. Growth she hadn't asked for.
"You enjoy this far too much," Mira said, eyeing the open mat like it had personally offended her.
Sam's mouth curved into something wickedly pleased, a glint flashing in her eyes that made it clear she had no intention of denying it. "Only when you survive it."
Mira sighed softly, setting her teacup aside on the nearest bench with exaggerated care. "I don't know why Cassian insists I need this level of… torment."
"Because he likes you alive," Sam replied easily.
Mira shot her a look, sharp and incredulous. "That's dramatic."
"It's accurate."
Mira folded her arms loosely, unimpressed. "I am not exactly wandering into dark alleys picking fights."
"No," Sam agreed calmly. "You're attached to a man who does."
That stalled her for half a second.
Sam was already stepping backward, positioning herself at the center of the mat. "And because you're capable of more than you think."
Mira exhaled through her nose, unbothered but resigned, and rolled her neck once before stepping forward. Her movements were fluid, graceful without effort—refined even when reluctant.
"I hate that you're always right," she said.
Sam grinned. "Everyone does."
Mira lifted her hands slowly, settling into position. "If I collapse, I'm haunting both of you."
Sam's eyes gleamed. "If you collapse, I'll carry you."
Mira paused.
"…Don't make it weird."
Sam laughed.
And then, mercilessly, she said, "Begin."
Mira set her bag down with deliberate care, the soft thud echoing faintly across the polished floor. She exhaled once, slow and measured, then squared her stance—feet planted, shoulders back, chin lifted just slightly.
Here we go again.
She rolled her wrists, loosened her fingers, felt the familiar tension settle into her muscles like a remembered language. This wasn't fear. It was focus. The kind that sharpened her senses, stilled her breathing, and narrowed the world into something manageable.
Somewhere far away, Cassian Calder was moving pieces across a board she only partly saw—strategizing, calculating, anticipating threats that lived in shadows and boardrooms and coded messages. His world was vast, layered, dangerous in ways she was still learning to name.
But here—right now—this was hers.
Not his calculations. Not his contingencies.
Her body. Her reflexes. Her control.
This was the part of the board she could touch.
Mira lifted her gaze, steady and unflinching, meeting Sam's eyes across the mat. There was no bravado in her posture, no performance. Just quiet intent. She didn't need to prove anything. She only needed to be prepared.
Because if Cassian's world demanded strength, she would meet it with her own.
And she intended—absolutely—to be ready.