Lilly Presley steps into the ring of lantern light, her academy coat unbuttoned, her gloved hand extended.
'A handshake before we begin,' she says, her voice measured, steady. 'I want you to know exactly who stands before you.'
Her fingers close around yours, warm and firm, not a contest of strength but a moment of connection. The air smells of wax and old stone, and her amber eyes hold yours.
'They say rivals sharpen each other. Let's see if that's true.'