It was desperation — a need to prove herself against me, to show that she could stand on the same ground I did.
Landing even a single hit would have been her proof that she wasn't the weakling she sometimes believed herself to be, that she was more than just another follower in my shadow.
It was her way of saying she could become a true asset to me, to the clan — a demand to be acknowledged.
But a question lingered:
Why was she so desperate to prove it?
She lifted her head then, her eyes meeting mine.
There was no hostility in them, only the sharp glint of determination, the same one I'd seen again and again whenever she set her mind to something.
I didn't think of her as weak.
Never once had I considered her a liability.
If anything, every time I watched her fight, every time I saw her grit her teeth and push herself further, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at how relentless she became when she decided something mattered.
