THE ZOESTERY

The training room was already humid, but Zoey couldn't tell if it was from the summer air or the way Mystery kept watching her like she was his next battle... or his next mistake.

They were the last two left in the sparring rotation.

"You ready, Moonchild?" he asked, twirling his practice blade lazily.

She adjusted her ponytail, sweat already slick at the back of her neck.

"I was born ready."

"Then show me."

The first few rounds were clean. Controlled.

Zoey moved like water — fluid, sharp, beautiful.

Mystery countered like fire — fast, unpredictable, consuming.

Their blades clashed, bodies turned, breath shortened.

And somewhere in the fifth round...

The tension shifted.

Mystery blocked her high kick — and his hand lingered on her thigh for half a second too long.

Zoey blinked. "You're holding back."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"You want me to go harder?"

"Please do."

That was all it took.

The next attack came fast.

Mystery spun behind her, kicked her legs out from under her, and before she could blink—

She was on her back.

And he was on top of her.

Both breathing hard.

Both staring.

His arms pinned her wrists beside her head, his knees caging her in.

Zoey's heart wasn't beating —

it was sprinting.

"Mystery—"

"You said don't hold back."

His voice was low. Hoarse.

There was a drop of sweat trailing down the side of his neck, and she couldn't look away.

"Then why do you look like you're about to kiss me instead of disarming me?"

His eyes flicked to her lips.

"Because you're too distracting."

Her breath caught.

"So stop being distracted," she whispered.

"Win."

"Can't," he murmured, leaning closer. "You already got under my skin."

Their lips were inches apart. The room pulsed with electricity. She could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. Could feel her name in the silence between them.

She tilted her head slightly, just enough to challenge him.

"If you're gonna kiss me—do it."

But he didn't.

Not yet.

Instead, he released her wrists, stood up smoothly, and held out a hand.

"Next time, I might not be so nice."

Zoey sat up, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

"Oh, you're evil."

Mystery smirked.

"You like it."

*They didn't kiss that day.

But the mat still burned.*

And later, when she lay in bed replaying every moment...

She knew:

Next time... one of them would break.*