She stood before me with folded arms, clearly not happy that I was there.
"Why are you here?" she asked, sounding so irritated.
I shrugged, pushed back my emotions, and gave her a hard expression. "Why can't I be here? This is the training field, not your room."
Olivia's eyes narrowed, her glare sharp. "Then train," she snapped, turning away from me and falling back into her stance. "Don't just stand there gawking."
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. "Your steps are sloppy," I said coldly.
She froze. Slowly, she turned to face me again, her expression unreadable. "What?"
"Your left leg drags on the pivot. Your form's weaker than usual," I said, trying to sound calm, like I wasn't suffocating on everything that happened minutes ago. "If you're going to act like a warrior, then fight like one."
Her lips curled into a furious smirk. "Oh, really?" she asked, voice dripping with anger. And before I could brace myself, she snatched a training knife from the weapons rack beside her and threw it.
The force behind it was no joke.
"You've got a mouth on you today," I said, swinging the blade, tasting it.
Without a word, she attacked me.
She didn't hesitate, not for a second. Her attacks came at me in a blur of movement, and though I blocked the first few strikes, I wasn't in the fight. I was distracted by her—the fire in her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the grace of every furious hit.
She spun, ducked low, and the next thing I knew, her blade sliced clean across my arm.
I hissed in pain, stepping back and looking down at the blood seeping through my sleeve.
She smirked. "Maybe you should spend less time fucking and more time training," she sneered.
I clenched my jaw, her words hitting harder than the blade.
"My mistake. Maybe if you weren't so busy with Anita, you wouldn't be getting your ass handed to you. Even your brothers are better fighters, and they've never slacked the way you have. And you're the eldest?"
Those words. Those exact damn words.
They sliced deeper than the wound on my arm.
My vision blurred with rage, memories replaying in my head.
Pain surged. Old pain. Deep wounds I thought were long buried were reopened.
With a growl, I struck back, faster and harder than before. Our blades clashed. Sparks flew. She fought back with everything she had, but this time I didn't hold back.
My blade came down in a quick, controlled arc—and sliced across her arm.
She stumbled back, clutching the cut.
The moment it happened, regret surged through me like ice water.
"Olivia—" I stepped forward.
"Don't," she said, her voice low but tight with pain.
Her eyes were wide—not with fear, but with disbelief.
The kind I hadn't seen before.
The kind I had feared more than anything.
What the hell have I done?
Olivia dropped the knife, and without saying a word, she began walking away, and without thinking, I followed her.
"Olivia… I'm sorry," I said again, rushing after her, my chest tight with guilt.
She didn't stop walking. Her arm was bleeding profusely, and she covered it with her other hand.
"Olivia, wait. Please—just let me take care of your wound."
She paused for a second, then turned her head slightly, her voice calm but annoyed. "It's training, Lennox. Injuries happen."
Her words sliced through me deeper than any blade. I took another step closer.
"I don't care if it was training or a real fight," I said, my voice low. "You're hurt. Let me help."
She finally turned to face me fully, her expression unreadable but her tone sharp. "Care for your own wound, Lennox. That one's bleeding worse than mine."
I shook my head, taking another step forward, stubborn. "I don't care about mine."
"Well, you should do," she snapped, her eyes flaring. "You're bleeding."
"What the hell happened?"
A voice, furious and cold, echoed across the field.
He was standing a few feet away, his eyes blazing, his frown deepened, jaw tight. He took in Olivia's arm, the blood running down her skin, and then he looked at me like he could rip me apart.
"You injured her?" he growled, voice thunderous.
I opened my mouth, guilt flooding me, but I couldn't even speak before he spoke.
"You hurt her! Are you out of your damn mind, Lennox? You cut her?!"
I staggered slightly at the force of his rage. "It was a training fight—it got out of hand. I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't mean to?" he snarled. "You're more experienced. You're supposed to know when to back out, and not injure her! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Olivia stepped between us, her arm still bleeding. "Levi, calm down. It was training. I provoked it too."
Levi didn't even look at her for a second. His eyes stayed locked on me. "You don't get to hurt her—even if it's training. You don't get to lose control. Not with her."
I clenched my jaw but said nothing.
Then Levi's gaze softened as he turned to Olivia, gently taking her wounded arm into his hands.
"Let me take care of this," he said quietly, but with a firmness that left no room for argument.
Olivia frowned. "I can take care of myself." She refused.
Levi shook his head. "It's not up for debate, I'm doing it."
She looked at me for the first time—really looked—but there was nothing warm in her eyes.
And just like that, I was dismissed.
Levi turned with her, guiding her away from me like I was a threat. I didn't try to stop them. I didn't say another word.
I just stood there, bleeding. Not just bleeding in my arm—but my heart was also bleeding.