"I thought this was gonna be a light spar," Atalanta muttered, spinning one of her blades lazily between her fingers.
"I thought you knew how to hold back and take a L." Parker replied, voice like silk and smirk sharper than her arrows.
Ere floated on a shadow between them, tail twitching. "Okay, I called for a test, not a divine powerplay with sexual tension."
"Too late," Atalanta said, stepping in close—way too close. Her blade didn't swing, it teased, tracing the air inches from his throat like she was drawing his silhouette in silver. "You always this smug, or is it the strength stroking your ego?"
Parker tilted his head, eyes scanning her—not with lust, but with curiosity, danger, respect. The kind of look that said I see you in ways that burned. "Careful, archer. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you want me to chase."
"Oh?" she hummed, flicking the blade around his back, slow and precise. "You think I run from anything?"
