LENA
The wind bit through my jacket as we trained, cold and sharp like the deadline hanging over all our heads.
Two days.
Two days until Marcus made good on his ultimatum. Two days until whatever storm he was conjuring finally broke open over the estate.
Every strike of my fists against the padded target was another thought I tried to drive out—every pivot, every kick, another fear I tried to bury. But it didn't work. Not really.
"He's not going to wait, is he?" I said, breathless as I reset my stance.
Sienna, already holding the pads again, gave me a look—measured, patient. "No," she said. "He's not the patient type."
I swallowed. "Then why hasn't he attacked already?"
"Because he wants you afraid first." Sienna's voice was steady, her gaze locked with mine. "He wants you looking over your shoulder. That's how he wins. Fear softens people before the blow ever lands."
I blinked the sweat out of my eyes. "Well, it's working."
