Runa moved.
One moment she was standing across the ring, her weight balanced, her eyes calculating. The next, she was a blur of motion, closing the distance between us with terrifying speed. Her fist aimed for my ribs—a testing blow, I would later understand, meant to gauge my reaction time.
I was not there.
My body moved before my mind could think. Selene's instincts, honed in desperate battles against demons and darkness, took over with an authority that brooked no argument. My feet shifted, my hips twisted, and Runa's fist passed through empty air where my ribs had been a heartbeat before.
The crowd gasped.
I heard it—a collective intake of breath, a sound of surprise rippling through the packed courtyard. They had expected me to freeze, to falter, to prove myself the soft Southern lady of their whispered doubts. Instead, I had dodged. Instead, I was still standing.
