Three in the morning. No one else awake. No one to see how hard she pushed, how the sweat soaked through her training gear, how her arms screamed with every swing.

The seraph blade cut through the dummy again—clean, precise, beautiful in its violence.

She didn't hear the footsteps. Too focused on the rhythm of her own breathing, the burn in her muscles, the way the steel felt like the only thing that made sense anymore.

But the door creaked.

She spun, blade raised, heart hammering—and found Alec Lightwood standing in the doorway, arms crossed, blue eyes unreadable in the dim light.