Between fists and ice

Push your way in between

I start to move, and my body falls into rhythm before my mind even catches up.
The first steps are soft, light, almost soundless. My muscles remember what they've always known — precision, balance, the sharpness of a moment where everything else fades away.
The noise of the gym dulls, voices blur as if underwater, and what remains is the sound of my own breathing — steady, calm — the pulse that beats in my ears, and the feeling of motion carrying me forward.

I take the first hurdle with ease, barely touching the ground when I land, weight perfectly centered. Onward. A leap, a turn — the floor vibrates faintly beneath my feet, but I hold the tension. Every step lands exactly where it should. I can feel the ground beneath me, the friction, the pull in my tendons, the familiar ache that reminds me I'm alive.
I forget everything — the night, the alcohol, the exhaustion, even my mother's memory.
Everything falls silent, and I'm back where I belong: in the moment.

When I reach the final station — a narrow balance beam — I lift my gaze for a second.
And meet hers.

Deyran stands at the edge of the room, arms crossed, head tilted slightly. She doesn't speak, but her eyes follow every one of my movements, so intently it feels like she could count my breaths. It's not a critical stare — more like she's testing how much control I truly have. Not over my body, but over what's hidden underneath.

My breathing shifts — just a fraction faster. My foot slips, only barely, but enough to make my heart stutter. I catch myself, focus, push the thoughts back into motion.
One more step.
Then the jump.
Landing.
Solid.
A dull thud. Silence.

I straighten, draw a deep breath.
Deyran takes a step forward, and for a moment it's as if the entire hall stops breathing. Her eyes hold mine — calm, assessing, almost... respectful?

"Clean execution," she says at last. Her voice is as even as ever, but softer than I expected.
"You have remarkable control over your body, Miss Kaelen."

I open my mouth, unsure whether to mutter a quick "thanks" or something sharper, something that would prove her praise doesn't affect me. But before I can decide, a voice breaks the stillness behind me.

A snicker. Then words, loud enough to echo off the walls.

"Of course Miss Perfect just had to show off again. Maybe to hide how lonely she is — or the fact that nobody actually likes her."

The laughter that follows is thin and cutting, and something inside me freezes solid.
I know that voice. Jonas — one of those guys who never learned that silence can sometimes be the smarter choice.

My shoulders tense. My jaw tightens.
I don't want to turn around. I don't want to react. But the words still sting — small, invisible knives under my skin.

"What's wrong?" he calls out. "Do you get extra credit for performing in front of the teacher now?"

A few people laugh again.
Lena, standing by the beam, shoots him a glare sharp enough to kill. "Just shut up, Jonas."

But he only laughs louder.
"Oh come on — Kaelen loves the attention. Or is this how she makes herself popular?"

Something rises inside me, something old and difficult to control.
Not anger — more like a reflex. That familiar burn in my gut that wants me to move before I even think.

I'm about to take a step when Lena grabs my arm.
"Don't," she whispers urgently. "He's not worth it, Mira."

I take a deep breath, feel the sweat on my skin, the rush of my pulse.
When I look up again, Deyran is closer — only a few meters away. Her eyes aren't on Jonas. They're on me.
And somehow, that's worse than if she'd yelled.
That look — heavy, warning, commanding — it pins me in place. It's unreal what that woman can do with nothing more than her expression.