Meredith.
The morning sun hadn't risen too high when I found myself in the middle of the training ground again, fists up and eyes focused on Dennis.
This time, my muscles didn't feel as foreign as they had days ago. The soreness was no longer there after the intense massage session yesterday.
Dennis struck quickly and deliberately, aiming just slightly off-centre to test me. I shifted, blocked, stepped back, my forearm catching his intended hit just in time.
He let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "You're catching on fast," he said, circling me. "That's twice now. You protected your liver and your side. Not bad."
I exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease from my shoulders. There was no Valmora today. No mysterious stirring in the back of my mind, no guiding voice. Just me. And I was managing really well.
Dennis pointed at me with a playful smirk. "Evening session—you land one hit on me, just one, and I will get you anything you want."
I arched a brow. "Anything?"
