Between fists and ice

Push your way in between

"That's enough," she says calmly.
Her tone isn't loud, there's no anger in it — and yet the entire hall freezes.
"Everyone who wanted to prove something today has done so. Miss Harrison, you're next."

Her words slice through the air, leaving no room for protest. No discussion, no aftermath — just a clean end, final and absolute. She continues the lesson as if neither Jonas nor I ever existed, as if neither of us were worth her time.

Jonas' smirk fades.
Lena slowly releases my arm.
I nod — it's all I can do — and walk to the edge of the hall, grab my jacket, wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

When I look up again, Deyran is across the room, speaking quietly with one of the assistants, as calm and composed as ever.
But I see it — the brief flicker of her eyes in my direction. Just a second, barely noticeable. But enough to make my heart trip over itself.

Lena appears beside me, exhaling heavily.
"That was close," she mutters.

I nod, zipping up my jacket, feeling the adrenaline drain slowly from my fingertips.

"I hate it," I say under my breath.

"What?"

"That she's right."

"About what?"

I glance toward the gym, toward Deyran, who's now watching the next student run the course — though her posture almost looks bored. Probably just another trick of my imagination.

"That it's not enough to be fast," I say quietly. "You have to know where you're running."

Lena studies me, then lays a hand on my shoulder.
"You sound like she's planted some kind of worm in your brain."

I give a faint smile at her attempt to lighten the mood, but my thoughts are already somewhere else — back where Deyran's voice still echoes in my head, and where, for the first time, I'm not sure whether I want to defend myself or feel understood.

Class is over, but the restlessness lingers.
The air in the hall still smells of sweat, dust, and heat — of what's built up in an hour and now slowly fades.
I just want to leave, clear my head, grab my things and forget that I almost lost it again.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me lately?

But just as I pull the water bottle from my bag, I hear his laugh behind me — that loud, fake laugh that's never actually funny, just meant to make him sound bigger than he is.

"Well, Kaelen," he calls, and I already know what's coming, "planning to turn it into a show next time? Maybe Deyran will even clap for you."

A few of his friends snicker, and that familiar knot tightens instantly in my gut.
I turn, slowly — just to see if he's really as stupid as he sounds.
He is.

"Let it go, Jonas," I say quietly. Too quietly, maybe, because even I can hear the strain in my voice.
"I'm not in the mood."

"That's new," he sneers. "Miss Kaelen, not in the mood for drama? Or are you afraid you'll hit someone again? Like, I've heard some rumors that you do that quite often."

The words cut deeper than I want to admit.
For a heartbeat, I see the courtyard again — the three boys, the trembling kid clutching his backpack, my own fist moving faster than thought.
I feel the pull in my hands, like I'd just thrown the punch all over again.

"I'll say it once more," I murmur, stepping closer. "Fuck off."

He grins, moving half a step toward me. The hall seems to hold its breath.

"Or what?" he says softly. "You gonna show me how tough you are again?"

Something snaps inside me.
Not anger, not rage — just a reflex, like brushing off a hand that's too close.
I move — not to hit, but fast enough to make him flinch back. My body coils tight, breath shallow.